


What Comes From the Lake

by slugbuggie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Avalon - Freeform, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), M/M, Merlin Waiting for Arthur Pendragon's Return (Merlin), Modern Era, Once and Future King, Redeemed Morgana (Merlin), Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugbuggie/pseuds/slugbuggie
Summary: 'What comes from the lake returns to the lake'. That and several other consistencies form the rules of the Once and Future King's reincarnation cycles. Fifteen-hundred years of cycles have passed in accordance with the rules, so why is this time so different?
Relationships: Arwen - Relationship, Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Perhaps more I haven't decided yet, Perwaine - Relationship, mercelot
Comments: 54
Kudos: 110





	1. The Reincarnation Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here's a new one. This is gonna be a bit longer than anything I've done on here so let's hope I actually get it done... Enjoy!

Leon was the first to burst back into Merlin’s life. It was the first time Merlin had dared travel more than a handful of leagues from the Lake in years, but he was restless and angry, so he grabbed a satchel one day and decided it was time for a bit of a vacation. He walked for days without seeing a single soul, avoiding towns, avoiding roads until one morning while crossing through an orchard he was tackled to the ground by a young boy running between two rows of apple trees. The boy scrambled to his feet immediately, gushing apologies and begging for forgiveness until he looked up and met Merlin’s eyes. 

“Merlin,” he breathed. The warlock stared at him, and for a moment they both seemed confused by what he’d said. The longer Merlin looked at the boy, however, the more familiar he seemed. Despite his hair, which fell to his ears in curls much blonder than they were when Merlin knew him, and his youthful lack of stubble, Merlin could see the resemblance to a knight he once knew so well. 

“Leon?” The boy’s eyes widened and he threw himself into Merlin’s arms, knocking them both back to the ground. “How- how are you here?” Leon was dead. Leon had _been_ dead for nearly a century.

“I…” The boy, this teenage Leon, sat back for a second and frowned, confused again at the way he was reacting. “I don’t remember. I just know that I know you. I know that you’re Merlin. I know that… I trust you.” 

―

From then on that was how it went. Every couple of generations, Merlin would run into one of the knights or Gaius or Gwen, sometimes even several of them, sometimes Mordred instead, and together they would wait for Arthur to rise. It took several months that first time, after that it varied. Once he ran into Percival at a party and felt the pull of Avalon’s magic just hours later. Once he met Gwen and Elyan walking together on a beach and waited with them for Arthur for nearly a decade before that ass of a king decided to show his face. Each time, Arthur would rise fully equipped with the skills he needed to save the world. Sometimes a warrior, a king, who would live and lead in victory, other times a doctor, a writer, a martyr. Arthur nudged humanity back in the right direction time and time again, and each time Merlin and his allies were at his side. 

As the centuries went by it seemed to get harder and harder for his friends to remember him, He would need to speak of their past at length or try to trigger old memories, even bring them to Avalon and beg them to remember, but they always seemed to come around. Morgana wasn’t always the greatest threat, in fact as time passed she rarely seemed to be, but she was always present. Try as he might, Merlin could not seem to displace her life from Arthur’s, their destinies were simply bound too tightly.

It took Merlin an embarrassingly long time to realize even destinies he’d assumed were written in ink could be modified if he just made an effort to change them. It was in Ireland that that fact finally hit him. Slapped him across the face, rather. 

On some battlefield, following some war, a few hundred years after the fall of Camelot, he knelt on the bloodsoaked ground and held Mordred in his arms. _What had been different?_ he’d asked himself for years afterward. For one, Mordred had been barely fifteen in that life. Just a child. For another, Avalon had already reclaimed their king. Arthur had died early in the battle, with a bang, of course. Gone with a cry that sparked determination in the hearts of his fellow warriors but gone nonetheless. Without Arthur, Merlin was left lonely and broken, unable to save the druid he’d called an enemy for so many years but unable to let him die alone.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin had sobbed, over and over and over. He’d taken Mordred’s silence for unconsciousness, not the adamance that it was, and amongst the bodies of fallen soldiers(no, not soldiers, men), he revealed hundreds of years of regrets to Mordred’s listening ears. He apologized for his mistrust of the boy in his first life, his inability to save Kara. “I tried!” he shouted to the sky. “Gods, I tried. But she was stubborn for sure. Even when Arthur offered to repeal his sentence, she would not repent. I made so many mistakes, Mordred. Mistakes that made me lose Morgana. Made me lose you.” The sun was nearly gone, it was beginning to get cold. “I blame myself for it all. You, Morgana. I could have helped you both.” He was met with silence. Merlin knew there was nothing else he could do. He sighed bitterly and began to shift to a position where he could lift the boy in his arms, determined to give him a proper burial, no matter their history.

“Merlin,” Mordred had whispered when the warlock lifted him. “I forgive you, Merlin.” That was all it took.

―

With each wave of reincarnations, it became clear that the spirits of Avalon had an infuriating little set of _rules_ when it came to raising the dead, and over the years Merlin was able to roughly figure them out. The first was this: those who outlived Arthur were significantly more likely to return. Leon -Lord, Knight, and later Steward- was most consistent of them all and after him, Gwen, Camelot’s beloved queen. Both had lived pleasingly long lives after Arthur’s death. Percival and Gaius were similar. Following Camlann, Merlin exhausted himself over the protection of his remaining friends. In his opinion, any detriment to his own health was a small price to pay to keep them safe, his family. Elyan, though always reincarnated alongside his sister, had a nasty habit of getting himself killed, which was how Merlin initially came to notice the pattern. Gwaine and Mordred’s fraction of appearances compared to the others, as well as Morgana’s tendency to vanish or, well, _die_ further proved his suspicions to be true. Strangest of all(and most disappointing) was Lancelot, who never once returned, despite his memorialization as one of Arthur’s greatest and most trusted knights.

Merlin tried his best not to hope, but, unfortunately, hoping came quite naturally to him. Fifteen-hundred years without a sign, and somehow a voice in the back of his head still whispered: _maybe someday._

The second rule concerned their numbers: never once after their first lives together were the knights of Camelot returned to their full strength. Merlin, for the life of him, could not figure out _why_ . They had fought _world wars_ for God’s sake! Revolutions! And yet, stubbornly, Avalon refused to grant life to more than three of Arthur’s followers during each reincarnation cycle. Four, if Morgana was to be included. (In all the spirits’ trickery, they couldn’t seem to be able to separate siblings. If Gwen was to return so would Elyan, if Arthur was to return so would Morgana.) It was hardly a cycle at all, it was far from linear. Even once he’d figured out the ‘laws’ of reincarnation, Merlin never learned to predict _when_ Arthur would rise again. Instead, he’d plod around for a while after Arthur’s departure, waiting to run into one of his friends. As time passed he started messing with the spirits. Would he still be forced to fulfill his destiny if he was in Russia? _America?_

The answer was always yes. However many(or few) years passed, he would always feel the pull of the Lake eventually. Calling him to Albion. Calling him to Arthur.

The third rule was possibly Merlin’s least favorite. Arthur never stayed for long. _What comes from the Lake returns to the Lake_ , Merlin supposed. Worst of all, when Arthur returned to Avalon, so did his friends. Merlin could wait ten years with Guinevere at his side but if Arthur returned and fulfilled his destiny in an hour Merlin would be alone the next day. Sometimes Arthur would be killed, other times he would survive the coming and walk back into the Lake on his own two feet. There were times when him leaving on his own accord hurt more than his death, though Merlin would never admit it.

The fourth rule was more of an occupational hazard than anything else. Mortal souls, human souls, souls unlike Merlin’s or Arthur’s could become fogged when held for two long. As the years passed, the more difficult it became for the others to remember. Mordred and Morgana, magical creatures themselves, would come around more quickly than the others, even once the forgetting began. Leon, Percival, Gwen, those who returned often could be reminded easily enough, even if it took some time and effort(and screaming, on occasion). Gwaine had proved difficult in his more recent lives.

The fifth and final rule was less of a rule and more of a consistency. Arthur would always rise as he had been laid to rest: red cloak, bloodstained armor, dry despite having just walked out of a lake, and his sword always in his right hand and dripping, as if the Lady of the Lake herself had handed it to him before sending him to the surface. Merlin would feel the pull of the Lake when the time neared, and with his friends at his side, he would rush to Avalon to greet the Once and Future King. 

There was significant divergence in the twenty-first century. 

At first, Merlin didn’t notice the rules being broken. He met Leon when the knight was in his first year of college, they became fast friends and over time Merlin was able to coax the memories from him. Gwen came several years later and with her, Elyan. It took longer for Merlin to convince them to remember, by the time they did it had been nearly five years of waiting. Elyan seemed to be surviving a suspiciously long time, and Merlin was beginning to get anxious. He tried to convince himself they had waited longer before, eight years and eleven months to be exact. Arthur would come. 

It had been just over a decade when Merlin discovered the first anomaly: Gwaine.


	2. The Return of Gwaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my betas [larklemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larklemon/pseuds/larklemon)  
> and [world-of-all-things on tumblr](https://world-of-all-things.tumblr.com/) for goin over this story for my whoopsies ;)

Merlin and Gwen were enjoying a peaceful night about town in early summer. A favorite time of year for Arthur, as Merlin had mentioned earlier in the night. Merlin had had a particularly difficult shift at the hospital the day before, so it was nice to have an evening off to spend with Gwen. They’d taken their time through the most recent exhibit at the art museum, had a nice, simple dinner at a cafe, and after a walk through a park where they could see the sunset, Merlin was driving back through the city to the flat Gwen and Elyan shared. 

“I like this song,” Gwen stated, twisting the dial to turn it up a couple of clicks. Merlin nodded his head to the galloping strum of the guitar. 

“I’ll learn the guitar bit, I can sing it for you,” he said with a grin, glancing over at his friend as she burst into laughter. 

“No, you can learn it, and _Leon_ will sing along.” 

“I’m wounded.”

“You’d think, in fifteen-hundred years, the great sorcerer Merlin would have learned to carry a tune.” 

“That’s just mean! I can carry a tune,” Merlin argued as he turned, maneuvering them onto a one-way street.

“Okay fine,” Gwen agreed. “You can carry a tune, but I’ve never once heard you sing a pop song anyway.”

“You’re right,” Merlin sighed. “I only sing if the song is five-hundred years old and Celtic.” Merlin could sense Gwen raising her eyebrows without having to look at her.

“I know you’re trying to make a joke, but that’s kind of true, Merlin.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

“It is.” Gwen deadpanned. “Learn English.” She wasn’t able to keep a straight face long, however, as Merlin’s noise of exasperation quickly brought laughter to her throat.

“I speak- Agh!” Merlin jerked the wheel to steer them away from a motorcyclist who had swerved into their lane to avoid an open car door. Metal scraped briefly against metal, but the motorcyclist quickly swerved away.

“Woah, you okay?” Gwen asked, taking her hand from Merlin’s arm, which she’d grabbed in surprise when he moved to avoid the bike. 

“Yeah.” The motorcyclist followed him as he pulled into the parking lot of a nearby market, hands a bit too shaky for his liking. Gwen and Merlin burst out of the car as soon as they’d stopped. Rushing to the man that had given them the fright, Merlin was prepared to be on his knees apologizing while Gwen mentally scripted an angry speech about motorcycles and road safety. Before either of them could speak, the motorcyclist struggled out of his helmet and ran a hand nervously through his hair.

“You alright, man?” Merlin froze. He was speechless until he felt Gwen once again grab his arm, equally shocked. His voice, his face.

“Gwaine?”

“What?” the other man asked. It seemed he’d been expecting an angry rant about needing to watch where he was riding.

“Is- is it you?”

“Me? What? My name’s Gavin-”

“Of course!” Merlin smacked his forehead. That had started happening in recent centuries, names like Guinevere and Percival and Gwaine were a bit, well, _Arthurian_.

“What are you-”

“Are you alright, Gavin?” Merlin questioned suddenly, remembering why they had stopped in the first place. “Are you hurt?” Merlin was a physician at a local hospital, and Gwen a pediatric resident, so after the initial shock passed, their medical instincts began to kick in.

“No,” Gwaine said slowly, bewildered. Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“Are you drunk?” The question was supposed to be playful, but the expression that shot across Gwaine’s face was defensive, fearful even.

“I’ve been sober nearly six months,” he muttered.

“Merlin,” Gwen said, realizing this was not going the way Merlin was wanting it to. She pulled him aside while Gwaine looked on in confusion (and slight concern). He may have been completely sober, but he was beginning to wonder whether or not this dark-haired kid was.

“Why is he here?” Merlin hissed once he and Gwen had turned their backs to the familiar motorcyclist. Gwaine, behind them, pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to impatiently check his watch.

“I don’t know!” Gwen whispered back. “I thought only three could come back!”

“I did too!” 

“What do we do?”

“Well, we have to keep track of him somehow, don’t we? We can’t just let him go…”

“Listen,” Gwaine called to them, interrupting their conversation. He was digging in his wallet when they turned around. “I kind of have to be somewhere, but how about this: You take these.” He handed them each a business card that he had scribbled something on the back of. “And if you hit me up at work I’ll get you anything you’d like, free. Or, if you really want, we can discuss… this,” he waved his hands between Merlin’s car and his bike on the last word. 

“I should make sure you’re alright,” Merlin argued. “You could be-”

“He’s a doctor,” Gwen interrupted. “He can’t help it.” Gwaine nodded understandingly, then shook each of his limbs to prove he was perfectly fine.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern, really, but if it’s okay, I kind of… have a date. You both seem lovely, I’m just a bit infamous for being tardy and I was trying to avoid that this time around.” He smiled at them, a bit guiltily, but Gwen was quick to beam back.

“Of course!” she replied. “We’ll be in contact.” Merlin watched in silence as one of his closest friends rode away down the street, oblivious to the ripple he’d just made in what the sorcerer had thought was a concrete diagram for how Arthur’s reincarnation cycles worked.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Merlin said blankly.

―

Leon could sense something wrong as soon as Merlin stepped into their shared house (which they affectionately called the Citadel). Over the years, Leon had been the most consistent, the most ferociously loyal, the most understanding. As much as he missed Lancelot’s voice, and Gwaine’s hugs, Merlin had to admit that nothing could contest Leon’s devotion to Arthur, and he had been instrumental in assuring the world’s safety time and time again. 

“Merlin?” Leon called from the small living room. “Merlin, you’re quiet.” No more than thirty seconds and Leon was already asking questions. Merlin would have laughed if he wasn’t still in such shock. All he could think was: _three had returned_ . Three had returned, so Gwaine was not _meant_ to turn up. He floated to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, then to the living room, where Leon was sitting on the couch looking up at him in concern.

“You want to know who Gwen and I saw tonight on the way home?”

“Who?” Leon shifted when Merlin sat down so he could face his friend. _So polite,_ Merlin thought fondly.

“ _Gwaine_.” 

“Gwaine? But-”

“I know!” Merlin slumped back into the cushions, holding his glass with two hands as he took a sip from it. 

“What do you think caused it?” Leon asked gently after a long silence. He was twisting his wedding ring thoughtfully, Merlin noticed. It was a simple silver band, which he fiddled with often, and the Lady Morgana bore its twin on her left hand. Before she and Leon had wed, there’d been cycles when Morgana had not shown her face at all, even after making peace with her brother and his followers. But in the couple of centuries since they’d married, she returned consistently, so it was strange that she’d yet to appear in this life. Merlin scowled, feeling Leon’s longing for Morgana as well as his own for Gwaine, Arthur, even Lancelot.

“I don’t _know_. He’s not- I don’t know, Leon. What if it’s not him?” Even as he suggested it he knew it wasn’t true. In all his trickery, all his chaos, Gwaine was one of the friends which Merlin had held most dear in their first life. As cliche as it may sound, he truly did consider Gwaine a brother. In lives since, however infrequent his return, he continued to hold his place in Merlin’s heart. Continued to make him laugh, make him cry, make him feel as if the centuries of loving and losing his friends weren’t for naught.

“It must be.”

“It must be,” Merlin agreed.

“So what do we do?” What a question. Merlin had been asking himself the same thing from the moment Gwaine took off his helmet. For a while, he could do nothing but stare blankly at poor Leon, until he remembered the business card he’d slipped into the back pocket of his jeans. He handed Leon his glass and shifted to grab it, turning it over so he could read it.

It was a brightly colored card advertising a tattoo parlor. On the back, in smeared black ink, there was a message. ‘ _One free tat -Gav_ ’.

“I guess,” Merlin sighed as he handed the card over to Leon. “I’m going to have to get a tattoo.”

―

It was almost a week later that Merlin finally worked up the courage to walk past the tattoo parlor. 

At two am. 

It was closed.

Luckily, passing the shop at night seemed to be what he needed to break the dam. The next day Merlin made his way to Tapestry Tattoo Parlor under the light of the sun. Just as he reached out to take the handle of the door, it swung open, revealing Gwaine in the doorway. When he smiled at Merlin the warlock forgave the spirits of Avalon for the small number of times they’d sent Gwaine back to him. Being able to see him at all was worth any wait.

“Hello, friend!” Gwaine said cheerily. “I’m just on my lunch break, walk with me?” Merlin nodded, he’d come here to talk anyway, that’s what would get Gwaine to remember. They properly introduced themselves, Merlin stumbled through a lie about mistaking ‘Gavin’ for an old med school friend, and they discussed the possibility of Merlin getting himself a free tattoo. It didn’t take long for Gwaine to sell him on it, he could make it disappear with magic whenever he pleased, so it wasn’t as if it was permanent.

“I have a couple hours free on Monday. Can you do… one?” 

“Ah, no I’ve got a long shift Monday,” Merlin replied, stopping beside Gwaine as the brunet pulled out his phone to put the appointment in his calendar. “How about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday it is!” He held out his hand with a grin and Merlin shook it without hesitation. 

“I look forward to it.” Gwaine’s smile brightened. 

“You know, I’m almost glad you nearly killed me the other day. You’re a fine fellow, Merlin.” Merlin laughed despite himself. _Fine fellow_. 

“You nearly got _yourself_ killed,” Merlin reminded him. The banter lasted several minutes more, until Gwaine cut it short at the sight of someone across the street.

“Oh! That’s my lunch date. Sorry, Merlin. I’ll see you Tuesday though! _Thank you_ for doing this.” Merlin agreed with a smile, and turned to watch Gwaine leave, jogging across the street to pull a taller man into an embrace. 

_Percival_.


	3. Dinner in the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... accidentally posted chapter 2 twice instead of posting chapter 3

By the time he got home to the Citadel, Merlin was having a bit of a breakdown. Leon was at his office when he got back, and Merlin figured he’d have a couple of hours until he got home, so he got right to work. Soup. He could do soup. He tried to still his shaking hands, to no avail. Brownies too, there was chocolate left in the pantry. _Okay._ He began to flip through recipe books, then magazines, then some articles on the internet. Chicken soup? Soup with rice? Maybe something with beans. _Okay._ Something _new,_ it had to be something new. _Okay._ Merlin groaned in frustration. 

“I have made _every_ single recipe in this book,” he muttered to himself. 

It wasn’t as if cooking was his only hobby, far from it in fact. When one’s lived as long as Merlin, it’s nearly impossible _not_ to pick up new hobbies, and evidence of that was strewn all over the Citadel. Paints, filled sketchbooks, fabrics and needles and _so much thread_ . A shelf filled with just about every video game ever sold, and a museum’s worth of old consoles. He had an impressive range of instruments as well: several guitars, a ukulele, two well-loved violins, a harp, a lute, a mandolin, a _lyre_. Mostly stringed, admittedly, he preferred the sound of them, but there were others as well. A couple of horns, drums, a flute or two, a box of harmonicas in various keys and sizes. When Gwen and Elyan visited it was a matter of handing Merlin an instrument and naming a style, he could play it all. 

He never sang along, though.

Merlin considered Gwen’s teasing from the other night in the car as the brownies filled the ground floor of the house with the scent of chocolate and warmth. It was true; even when he strummed a song they all knew he had a tendency to sit back and listen. Singing was for Leon, just as the piano in the living room was for Leon, and the bathroom on the second level with the floor-length mirror was for Leon. Unspoken, but never contested. Singing was for Elyan and Gwen when they visited, clapping and laughing and dancing around on the carpet. Singing was for Arthur, on the eve of battle, for Gaius while he worked, Percival when he was thinking, Gwaine when he was tipsy. Even Morgana, with her soft, haunting lullabies, and Mordred, who sang children’s songs in an old druid tongue only he and Merlin remembered. Most of all, for Lancelot, fifteen-hundred years ago at a party in honor of his knighthood, or on nights he kept watch when he thought the others were asleep. There never seemed to be a time when Merlin felt right singing with the others, so he didn’t, not until it was dark and quiet and he was alone. He was accustomed to loneliness. It was peaceful.

With the brownies in the oven and the soup at a simmer on the stove, Merlin felt at a loss. He needed _something_ to do. He took a lap around the ground floor, dipping into the many rooms. The Citadel was a house too large for two young men, but too small for a knight of Camelot and a fifteen-hundred-year-old warlock awaiting their king. This would be the third time Arthur would return to this house, and Merlin had to admit, he was getting quite attached to it. It was tall and pretty, three stories and a basement, and planted securely in the middle of a decently large plot of land, on which Merlin had placed protection spell after protection spell. He, Percival, and Arthur had been the first to call the land home, nearly two-hundred years earlier. After that, Mordred and Leon joined him in awaiting Arthur’s return. Now Leon was back, and Elyan and Gwen were not far away in the city, and they continued to use the old renovated brick house as a bit of a home base. There were several lifetimes worth of memories in the Citadel, their fortress.

The oven beeped, startling Merlin from his thoughts and wanderings. The brownies were out, the soup was almost finished, and there was -Merlin glanced up at the clock- over an _hour_ until Leon was scheduled to be off work. _Damn_. He searched the fridge, as if an appliance could give him the answers he desired. He found nothing to put his mind at rest concerning Gwaine and Percival’s return, but there was a mostly-empty pint of cream that he needed to use, so pancakes with whipped cream was the answer he settled on. He called Gwen while he was cooking the last batch, begging her to come to dinner, and who was she to turn him down when he offered her soup and sweets?

An hour later, things were falling back into place. Leon was showering, Gwen was whipping cream, Elyan was in the living room with a book, a couple of pancakes, and a cup of tea. Merlin breathed in paprika and chocolate and _home_ and breathed out his panic surrounding the… Percival issue. They would eat, they would discuss what Merlin had seen, they would figure out what to do together and things would be okay. _Okay_.

“You okay, Merlin?” Gwen questioned, setting down the bowl and hand mixer to stand beside him. Merlin smiled at her and bent to bump his forehead against her shoulder. 

“I had a weird day,” he murmured. “I’ll tell you all about it in a bit.” 

“Okay,” Gwen agreed with a smile. For the first time since Gwaine had swerved into his car, Merlin felt entirely at ease.

―

There was a strange silence at the dinner table that night after Merlin shared his news. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfamiliar among the four friends, in this life especially. They’d had so much _time_ . It was odd how much time they’d been given, they’d always thought so, but that didn’t mean they weren’t grateful for it. It was exciting to think they’d be able to see more of their friends. Gwaine had not been reincarnated for several hundred years. Were Gaius and Mordred out there somewhere too? Where was Morgana? In the back of their minds they each bubbled with excitement, hope, and unbeknownst to each other, they each asked themselves: _could this be the life where Lancelot finally returns?_ But it was frightening to realize that this time things really were different. _How different?_ Their numbers continued to grow, did this mean the threat was greater? Or did it mean they would be at a disadvantage they had never had before? _Did it mean Arthur wasn’t coming back?_

Nothing frightened Merlin quite as much as that looming question. Sure, it always lingered in the back of his mind. When he’d waited a particularly long time with no signs of the next coming there were times when he wondered if that was it, if his job was finished, destiny fulfilled, but however long it took, Arthur would _always_ return. For the others it was a gamble each cycle. Who would be back? Leon? Guinevere? Gaius? He was always left wondering when they returned to the Lake, would he see them in the next cycle, or would it be many more until they returned? Even Morgana, once the two of them had made peace, chose her wanderings over Merlin some cycles. Arthur was the only one he knew, with certainty, would come home to him every time, and the possibility of losing that constant was terrifying. His dearest friend, his destiny. He’d watched Arthur grow up not only in his first life, but in the many more following it. They’d teased and squabbled to the ends of the Earth, but would fall back into each other’s embrace with each resurrection. Arthur _had_ to come back. Because Merlin needed him to.

So they sat in contemplative silence, speaking only to compliment Merlin’s cooking or to say _‘pass the salt, please’._ Merlin allowed them until dessert to sit with their thoughts. When he gathered the bowls and brought them to the kitchen, he returned with brownies, whipped cream, and a question for his friends. 

“What should we do?” he asked as he set the pan and bowl down on the table. The other three returned to their more characteristically talkative selves in an instant. 

“Well, we need to help them remember, first and foremost,” Leon decided, twisting his wedding band. Surely he was thinking of Morgana. There were nods and various noises of agreement from around the table (it was, in fact, a round table. The design happened to look nicer than a rectangular table in the nook where Merlin shoved it, and he’d found it quite comical at the time).

“I’ve spoken to Gwaine, it may take a while, but I’m sure I can get him to come around,” Merlin said. “I’m seeing him again on Tuesday, I’ll try and poke some memories at him.”

“Maybe while you’re at it you can get Percy’s number or something,” Elyan suggested. “I haven’t seen Percival in a lifetime, I’d love to talk to him.” 

“Several lifetimes, if I remember correctly,” Gwen added. Before anyone else could speak, there was a knock at the front door. Glances were exchanged around the table. With the protection spells around the property, only specific people were able to enter without Merlin noticing. All of those people (who remembered their pasts, that is) were sitting around his dinner table.

“Weapons,” Merlin hissed. In an instant, all three of his friends brandished swords and they approached the closed front door. Merlin held up his hands, ready to fire a spell.

“On three?” Leon breathed.

“On three,” Merlin confirmed.

“One.” They all tensed at Leon’s voice. “Two.” Swords were raised, Merlin stepped closer to the door. “Three.” The warlock’s eyes flashed gold and the door flew open to reveal Percival, who yelped at the sight of the four of them in the doorway. _Of course_ . One of the knights wouldn’t be any reason for the warning system from his spells to be activated. _Wait._

“Why are you here?” Merlin asked quietly, barely audible. He tried not to get his hopes up in the seconds before Percival responded.

“I remember,” the knight replied. Relief washed over Merlin before anything else. It wasn’t a trick, it wasn’t a cruel coincidence. It was just another one of his friends coming home.

“This messes with our whole plan,” said Elyan.

―


	4. Did You Draw This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets a tattoo :0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update! I'm notoriously bad at finishing stories, but I think I can get this one done!

On Tuesday at noon, Merlin and Percival left the Citadel and made their way into the city. They stopped at a cafe for a quick lunch and a change of scenery, as Percival had been staying in the Citadel with the others since he had remembered his past. It was warm for early summer, but not uncomfortably so.

“I was here just the other day,” Percival told Merlin when they sat down. “Gav- Gwaine? Ah,  _ Gavin _ and I had lunch.” Percival, the only one who had gotten to know Gwaine in this life before getting his memory back, seemed unsure about what to call the other knight, for he wasn’t  _ Gwaine _ , at least not how they knew him. Merlin figured he’d need to get used to ‘Gavin’, it could be a while before his friend remembered.

“ _ Lunch date _ , he called it,” Merlin recalled, his tone teasing. Percival’s sheepish glance at the table was all it took to urge the warlock on. “At least he was enough of a gentleman to take you somewhere classy, even just for lunch.”

“Chivalrous indeed.”

“Tell me, is he as charming as he used to be? Does he call you ‘princess’?” Percival’s laugh was genuine, but his face was beginning to flush. “I don’t blame you for falling into his trap, there is none quite as adept in the art of  _ wooing _ , is there not?” Merlin was getting quite the kick out of himself, and in remembering the various occasions he’d watch Gwaine try to get a date. Successful or not, his attempts were always entertaining.

“Guess so,” Percival chuckled, but his nerves were obvious in the way he wrung his hands together. This was something new. Merlin’s expression changed.

“It’s okay,” he told his friend. “You don’t have to feel odd about it. I’m sorry.” Percival shrugged and took a sip of his tea before flashing Merlin a small smile.

“It’s okay. It’s difficult not to.”

“Why?” Merlin felt a bit guilty, perhaps he had gone too far.

“Well, he’s my friend. I guess, I didn’t realize how  _ important _ of a friend he was before I got my memories back, but… When you’ve been a certain way for so long, it’s strange to see another path appear.” Merlin nodded. The blurry image of a familiar face floated in the back of his mind. Curse his immortal life and his very  _ mortal _ memory.

“I understand,” he said before he could stop himself. It was Merlin’s turn to stare at the table.

“Who?” Percival asked softly. He had a certain talent for getting people to spill their deepest secrets. Percival’s gentleness reminded Merlin quite intensely of Lancelot in the moment, the way Lancelot teased, the way he could convince Merlin to share anything at all. When he said  _ ‘talk to me’ _ Merlin just couldn’t stop himself. It didn’t matter if it was as simple as what he ate for lunch, Lancelot had known just the trick to bend Merlin to his will. “Talk to me,” Percival said, smiling reassuringly as he did. And Merlin, for a moment, thought he would. 

“It was many years ago,” he said instead. “It’s in the past. But I can tell you this: take the chance before it’s too late. If I know Gwaine, I know you won’t lose him if things go wrong.” It was true, the latter half of what he’d said at least. Percival seemed pleased enough, however, and he smiled at Merlin before slipping his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Merlin struggled to engage in the rest of the conversation, his mind lingering on that face: trying to remember the sweep of his dark hair, his warm eyes, the smile that brought Merlin to his knees. He could tell Percival this in an instant, potentially confirm whatever suspicions the other knight had, in fact, he  _ wanted _ to. But he couldn’t. It was a secret, and it always would be. For as long as Lancelot did not return, Merlin could not bring himself to admit that he was still, after all these years, helplessly in love with him.

―

Merlin could proudly say he didn’t feel the least bit nervous until he and Percival stepped into the tattoo parlor. The sanitary smell, the dim lighting, the countless pictures and drawings that covered the walls. His heart thumped a little harder in his chest, he gripped the folder holding his tattoo design a little tighter. The woman at the counter when they walked in was blonde and bright, a pleasing contrast to the intensity of the rest of the room. Merlin focused on her, flashing a smile.

“Hello!” she said cheerily. “Appointment?”

“Yes. One,” Merlin replied. He looked down at his watch. They were a bit early. Before he could say so, however, there was a voice from a back room. Merlin couldn’t quite place where it was coming from at first, it was just muffled shouting from the wall behind the counter.

“Oh, Merlin! Wait, wait, I’ll be out in just a second I’m just cleaning off the-” There was a thump and a door around the corner was thrown open, revealing a bright-eyed Gwaine, his hair pulled back, yet somehow still falling in his face. Merlin smiled.

“Hello,” he greeted. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Percival giving Gwaine a small wave, which, if it were possible, made Gwaine’s face light up even further.

“Percy!” he exclaimed as he burst forward to give the taller man a hug. He hugged Merlin too, and the action felt far too familiar for acquaintances. It was just how Merlin remembered, one-armed and lighthearted, and he wanted to squeeze back and say ‘I’ve missed you’ but that would definitely be taken the wrong way, so he just patted back as naturally as he could and tried not to look like a sentimental idiot when Gwaine pulled away.

“Merlin’s a, um, old friend. I thought I recognized him the other day, so I got in touch.” This was incredibly pleasing to Gwaine. They chatted for a while, until Percival pointed out that it was one and he had to run and get groceries anyway.

“See you later?” Gwaine said hopefully.

“Brunch tomorrow?” Percival questioned.

“Absolutely.”

“I will see you,” Percival addressed Merlin, “tonight. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” And with a squeeze of Merlin’s shoulder and a shy kiss on Gwaine’s cheek, he was off. This was how they planned it, to expose Gwaine to the knights slowly. Elyan would be picking Merlin up after the appointment, and Merlin hoped that would be enough to spark some sort of recognition.

“Alright then.” Gwaine clapped his hands. “Do you have a design?” Merlin nodded and pulled the sheet of printer paper from his folder. Gwaine moved around the counter and his eyebrows rose when Merlin placed the paper between them. “Did  _ you  _ draw this?”

“Yeah.” Gwaine stared at him, impressed.

“Jesus, we should hire you. This is incredible!” Merlin shrugged and looked down at the sketch; not his best, but passable. 

“Thanks.” He’d started it over the weekend, but only took the time to clean it up the night before, having been so distracted with Percival’s return. It was a pencil sketch he’d gone over in ink, an accurate depiction of the real Excalibur, though no one but he and his resurrected friends knew it. He’d colored the hilt and blade with a gold-colored pencil, and traced the runes down the blade in pen. 

“What does this say?” Gwaine asked, running his finger down the runes on the paper.

“Take me up, cast me away,” Merlin read with a smile.

“You sure? I don’t want you coming in here complaining about how I put something on your body that you translated wrong.” Merlin almost laughed.

“What would I do, ask for my money back?” Gwaine chuckled at that.

“Just as long as you’re sure, man.”

“They’re Anglo-Saxon runes,” Merlin told him, trying to sound reassuring. “I can read them.” Gwaine narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“Where are you thinking?” Merlin ran a finger down his right forearm. They settled on two sessions, three hours each, and got to work. Merlin, admittedly, was a bit twitchy, but overall the session went okay. They talked, Merlin asking questions and Gwaine answering softly, his attention more on Merlin’s arm than what he was asking. Merlin learned that Gwaine had only been in the area for a couple of years, and had met Percival pretty soon after he had settled in. In a conversation mirroring one of their first back in Camelot so many years ago, they spoke of their fathers. In this life, Gwaine’s father had been killed in a motor accident when he was in sixth form, a drunk driver. The incident had turned him to drinking, and after years of wandering and struggling with his familial relationships, he’d finally forced himself to settle down and straighten up two years prior, after his mother’s death. He moved to the city to be closer to his sister, if ever she needed his support. And near other relatives, his cousin lived a couple of hours away. He was six months sober. Gwaine’s pride in himself made Merlin smile.

“I’m proud of you,” Merlin told him. Gwaine made a face, like he couldn’t believe everything he’d just said. They had taken a break and were sitting, Merlin in the black vinyl… almost a  _ dentist _ chair, he decided, and Gwaine beside him, sipping tea and rocking back and forth. Who thought it’d be a good idea to give Gwaine a spinning chair?

“Man, I’m sorry,” Gwaine laughed. “I’m not sure why I went on like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“What about you, what about your dad?” Gwaine tried to turn the conversation away from himself. Merlin smiled sadly, thinking of the wooden dragon that sat on the windowsill in his bedroom.

“I met my father only briefly before he died,” Merlin said thoughtfully.

“Why?” 

“He was forced to leave before I was born, he didn’t know I existed. I’m glad to have met him though. He was a good man.” 

“My father was a proud, emotionally constipated prick sometimes,” Gwaine said bluntly. “And I was a teenage boy, so that didn’t help.”

“Never does, does it?” Gwaine shook his head in agreement.

“No. But he taught me to drive. He tucked me in when I was little and he took me out for ice cream after my first heartbreak. I’m glad you got to meet your father, they’re worth it, even the imperfect ones.” Merlin smiled. There was something so familiar, but so different about Gwaine in this life. He’d grown up, Merlin decided. And he seemed so content with where he was, Merlin almost wanted to let him be, to live his life to the fullest without having to worry about destiny and fate. Was that even possible? Could he just let Gwaine go? He was lost to the world for a moment, mulling the thought over in his head. Was it possible for Gwaine to continue living without ever gaining his memories back, and if so, would it be better that way? It took Gwaine saying his name several times to bring him back to reality.

“What?”

“I said we should get started again. I’m almost halfway through.”

“Right.”

“There’s something about you, Merlin,” Gwaine mused as he pulled his gloves on. “I’m not sure what. You’re strange, but somehow, you’re familiar. As if I’ve known you for ages.” Merlin knew he should be elated to know Gwaine was feeling that way, that was a big sign the memories were popping up, or at least thinking about it, but for some reason all he felt was sadness. Regret for disturbing the life Gwaine had.

“I guess I have one of those faces,” Merlin quipped.

―


	5. A Night of Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and uncertainty and more fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically I love all these friendships (except Leon apparently I keep leaving him out sorry Leon)

Merlin pulled his knees close to his chest and sighed as he looked out at the view from his window. His room was on the top floor and overlooked a pond and creek that ran to the ash grove at the back of his property. He could see the furthest fence from his large window; it was one of the best indoor vantage points, and he liked to sit on the ledge and think. Tonight, he stared out into the darkness and thought about Gwaine. 

When Elyan had come earlier that day to pick him up, the two of them had clicked immediately. In fact, by the time Merlin and Elyan left, Gwaine had half convinced Elyan to do a story on how great of a tattoo artist he was, and by the way Elyan grinned at the scribbled-on business card Gwaine handed him, Merlin wouldn’t have been surprised if the article popped up some time in the next week. It wasn’t surprising, they’d been fast friends in their first lives as well, they were so similar in nature, so the familiarity must have lingered. Elyan, like Gwaine, was a wanderer at heart. He was funny and kind and so intensely loyal it shocked Merlin at times. They made a good team, and it was clear how much Elyan missed his friend, so when Merlin had brought up the possibility of letting Gwaine be, Elyan had not been pleased to hear it. Dinner ended with Elyan and Leon excusing themselves to different rooms, then Gwen followed to check on the two of them, leaving Merlin and Percival alone together at the table. Merlin rubbed at the plastic that covered his forearm, his tattoo outlined, but only halfway filled in with detail. 

“Stop that,” Percival said when he noticed. 

“It sort of itches,” Merlin mumbled.

“It’s healing. Let it be.”  _ Let it be _ . Advice Merlin should probably take to heart in quite a few situations. Accept the strange things happening, leave Elyan and Leon alone to process. If he could just  _ let things be _ , not poke and prod and try to understand each and every detail, who knows how many problems he could have avoided. Of course, his suggestion to let Gwaine be had not been taken well over dinner. Merlin scowled at his arm, flipping the situation over in his head. 

“I shouldn’t have suggested it,” he finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even suggested it.” It was quiet once again, for too long, and Merlin was considering leaving Percival to try and apologize to Elyan when the knight across from him spoke, his voice soft and uncertain.

“I’ve thought the same thing.”

“You have?”

“In this life, I’ve known Gwaine for two years, and I’ve watched him go from an absolute mess to the man he is now. He repaired his relationship with his sister, built a career, got sober, became so much happier, and when I got my memories back I was afraid he would risk losing all of it if he remembered too.” Percival hesitated, thinking of what to say. Merlin could see what conclusion he’d come to. 

“But?” he urged Percival gently.

“I’m so proud of him. So proud.” The soft smile on his face made Merlin’s heart ache. Gwaine had no idea how lucky he was. “But do you know what all of it reminded me of?”

“What’s that?”

“Camelot. Arthur.” He leaned forward, toward Merlin, before continuing on in earnest. “However happy he is right now, however pleased he was with his life before he became a knight, without us he won’t ever feel complete. I know because I’ve been there too. Lancelot was my only friend and he and I, we had eachother but we were a bit lost. When Arthur knighted us we finally had a home, a  _ family _ . Gwaine was the same. And before I remembered, I was happy but… I was incomplete.” Lancelot’s name said out loud caught Merlin off guard and sent a strange chill down his spine.

“Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I know he does. He has no idea why,” Percival said, laughing to himself as if remembering a specific moment. “He’s on the up for the first time in, well,  _ ever _ , and he can’t understand why things don’t always feel right. You took me in, Merlin. You took him in too. You and Arthur and Lancelot and the others, and whether he’s traveling or settled down, he’s always going to need us. I know I do. He could be really happy like this, but it won’t ever compare to how he’ll feel when he remembers. We’re his family. He needs his family.” 

“You’re right,” Merlin sighed. “And we need him.” Percival looked up from the table and smiled. “You talk to Leon, I’ll talk to Elyan?”

“You got it.”

Elyan was outside on the porch when Merlin found him, with Gwen just inside the door, watching him sadly. Merlin took her arm gently, then leaned forward and touched the side of his head to her shoulder. Gwen returned the action, leaning her head against his and reaching up to ruffle his hair when he pulled away.

“I’m gonna talk to him.”

“I don’t know if he wants to talk, Merlin.”

“Gotta try,” he replied with a shrug before letting himself out onto the porch. Elyan didn’t look up until Merlin sat on the steps beside him. “I should apologize for what I suggested, I realize now that it isn’t an option.” Elyan stared at him in silence, mulling over his words. Merlin wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything at all, but after a moment Elyan uncurled a bit, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out on the stairs. He let out a long sigh before addressing Merlin.

“I’m sorry for reacting how I did.”

“I understand,” Merlin assured his friend. “You miss him. I do too.” Elyan smiled weakly at Merlin, there was sadness in his eyes.

“It isn’t fair.”

“I know.” The sound of the night engulfed them for a moment, faraway cars, crickets, wind. They sat together and hoped for Gwaine to remember soon, they hoped for things to begin to make sense. Merlin was careful not to interrupt Elyan in his thoughts, he knew the frustration was dealing with. During the quiet minutes, he looked down at his left forearm, bending it a bit, feeling the discomfort of the healing wound. He watched his skin wrinkle beneath the plasticky bandage, a bit fascinated by the unfinished tattoo on his arm. It ached. It itched. He could heal it so easily, but he fought the urge to. Gwaine needed to finish what he’d started, he couldn’t freak his friend out by prematurely healing his arm. 

When Elyan finally spoke up, his voice soft and on the verge of breaking.

“He’s my best friend, but I haven't had a proper conversation with him in… God,  _ centuries _ .”

“I know. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you all. I’ve been able to go through all of this with my memories intact, it must be horrible to have to re-remember everything.” Elyan laughed out loud then, and bumped his fist against Merlin’s shoulder.

“That’s funny Merlin, but the rest of us will never begin to know all that you’ve gone through. All you’ve done for us. The least we could do is not storm out when you suggest something we might not agree with.” He sheepishly referred to himself, his tone apologetic.

“Percival knows Gwaine in this life, he’s explained to me how things don’t feel quite right before the memories come back. I think it would be wrong of us to keep the truth from Gwaine,” Merlin said honestly.

“Good to know we do agree then.” Elyan flashed him a smile, grateful they were on the same side. They fell into quiet again, and when he turned his head, out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see Gwen leave from her spot in the door, no longer feeling she needed to stay and make sure her brother was alright.

“Elyan?” Merlin was the one to break the silence this time.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you think Gwaine and Percival are back?” Elyan hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe because we need them. We haven’t all been together for a long time.”

“Do you think Gaius and Mordred will be back too?”

“I don’t know, but if they are we should look for them, shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you’re worried, Merlin. Maybe all of us returning means something, but honestly, I can’t be too bothered. I’m just happy to have Percival, I’m happy we’re trying to get to Gwaine. I’ve missed my friends, Merlin.” The warlock smiled and gave Elyan’s arm a squeeze. It was true, he was worried, but Elyan’s words reminded him again to be thankful, to take the situation as a blessing rather than a mystery.

“When I get Gwaine back for you I hope you remember this night and keep me out of your stupid pranks.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Elyan clapped Merlin’s shoulder and began to stand. “I’ve already forgotten.”

―

Gwen found Merlin in his room later that night, sitting in his windowsill, staring out into the darkness. She approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him. She and Elyan had started staying in the Citadel, in case they were ever needed, and after Elyan and Leon had gone to bed, she’d stayed up talking to Percival about the events of the past few days. When things went wrong, poor Merlin was always the one who had to figure things out, and as much as she stepped up when needed, she did not envy his position. The knights looked to him now as much as they looked to her, if not more, and she knew the responsibility of that fact was weighing on him.

“Merlin?” The warlock turned slowly to look at her. He looked exhausted. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the almost 14 hour shift he’d had on Monday, the stress of Gwaine and Percival returning, or both. “Are you alright?” He shrugged weakly, as if debating whether or not to tell the truth.

“I’m confused.” Gwen hummed in agreement and moved to sit beside him on the ledge. Merlin scooted back against the wall to make room for her and lifted his legs to rest them in her lap once she’d settled down.

“Talk to me,” she said gently. That would be the second time someone had said that to him today, and neither time was it the person he truly wanted it to be. When the tears welled in his eyes he stubbornly tried to stop them, but there was nothing he could do. “Merlin,” Gwen murmured, setting one hand on his knee and the other on his ankle. She gave him a little squeeze and he nodded in acknowledgement, it was the best he could do in the moment. “I know it’s scary to feel like everything is changing. You’ve had a structure for the last thousand years and now… it’s all screwed up!”

“It’s not just that,” Merlin sniffed, looking up at Gwen through misty eyes. “What if this means something’s different? What if- What if Arthur’s-” His voice cracked before he could finish his sentence, but Gwen understood. She squeezed his leg again and shook her head, unable to even consider the thought a possibility. After all they’d been through, Arthur  _ had _ to come back. He had to.

“Arthur is coming,” she told the warlock firmly, drilling the notion into her own head as much as his. “You’ll see.” Merlin moved his legs and shifted so that he was sitting beside Gwen, then slumped to rest his head on her shoulder. Gwen took his hand, rubbing circles over Merlin’s knuckles as she pressed her cheek against his dark hair. “You’ll see,” she said again, voice barely a whisper. They stayed that way, both of them leaning on the other, for so long Gwen thought Merlin had fallen asleep. She twisted her neck to look down at him, eyes closed, hidden beneath dark lashes. She brushed his bangs back from his forehead. They were getting a bit long, and when he let them get long they began to curl. 

“Gwen?” Merlin’s voice was soft and breathy, as if he was on the edge of sleep. Gwen figured she’d need to get him to his bed in a moment. It seemed she’d been putting grown men to bed all evening.

“Mm?” She brushed her fingers through his hair again.

“Do you think  _ he’s _ coming back?” Gwen paused. She knew who Merlin was talking about. And as much as Merlin liked to think he could hide it, she knew how he felt about the knight he spoke of. 

“I don’t know, love.”

“I  _ hope _ so,” Merlin all but mouthed the words, his voice nearly gone. His eyes were still closed, but Gwen could see a tear sliding down his cheek. The whisper of a smile on his face looked strange against his tear-stained cheeks. To comfort her friend, Gwen began to sing. It was an old song, Brittonic, lost to all except Merlin, Gwen, and the knights. A song about lost love and longing. If he hadn’t been leaning against her, Gwen may not have noticed Merlin softly humming along. The action simultaneously warmed her heart and made it ache. 

“I really miss him, Gwen,” Merlin murmured when Gwen finished. He repeated a line of the song, one of the more hopeful ones. It spoke of the moment when lovers come together again, the joy and light that bursts from a reunion of two people in love. The fatigue brought a lightness to his tone that she hadn’t heard in reference to Lancelot in many years. Not from Merlin, at least. The knights could speak of Lancelot with a nostalgic affection over a few drinks every now and then, but never Merlin. When Merlin spoke of Lancelot-  _ If _ he spoke of Lancelot, it was sad and wistful and quiet, as if he feared disturbing the peace of a restless spirit. He spoke of Lancelot as if he were a wound still raw, and Gwen assumed that must be true, love never faded easily for Merlin after all.

“I know you do,” she finally murmured, hugging the warlock close. Quietly, Gwen began to sing again. One of Arthur’s favorites, a hymn for warriors. It was gentle, loving, and despite being laced with sadness, was also filled with hope. Merlin sang softly along.

―


	6. Wednesday Morning Brunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm soft for Perwaine

Gavin walked into Riverside Cafe at exactly 10 am on Wednesday morning. As usual, his date had beat him there. He grinned when his eyes met those of his boyfriend, and the way Percy lit up when he spotted him only made him smile wider. He’d gotten lucky for sure. Percy had been one of Gavin’s closest friends for almost two years before he finally grew a pair and just asked him out. All jokes aside, it was simultaneously the best and most terrifying night of Gavin’s life. Dinner went from ‘how are the customers, Perce?’ to ‘what are your thoughts on marriage, Perce?’ to ‘how would you feel about marrying me, Perce?’ and honestly, Gav wouldn’t have it any other way. They’d settled on dating for the time being of course. Marriage could wait.

“Gw- Gav!” Percy stood and brought Gavin into a hug. Man, he gave the best hugs.

“Hey, Perce!” Gavin spoke into Percy’s shoulder, still a bit crushed by the embrace. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Percy blabbered as he pulled away. “Just had a long night is all. I’m glad to see you.” In an effort to be gentlemanly (and to silently apologize for making Percy wait), Gavin pulled Percy’s chair out for him to sit before taking his own seat. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward the blond.

“I’m glad to see you too! Was it a bad night? You had dinner with that Merlin fella, didn’t you?” Gav couldn’t imagine how dinner with ‘that Merlin fella’ could bring about a bad night, he’d seemed really lovely when Gavin worked on him the day before. In fact, Gavin liked him quite a lot, even just from the couple of hours they’d spent together.

“No, not a bad night. A heavy one, I guess. We, um, some uni friends and I were reminiscing, that’s all.”

“I guess I can believe it. There’s something about him, you know.” Percy looked up from the menu, intrigued by the statement.

“About who?” he asked slowly.

“About Merlin. And you know what, about his friend, too! There’s something… Well, I don’t know!” Gavin laughed.

“No,” Percy said gently, placing his hand atop Gavin’s. “Tell me.” Now, who could resist that? Gavin smiled and tangled their fingers together.

“He’s just the type you can reminisce with, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“It’s- it’s weird, I don’t really know how to say this.”

“It’s okay, take your time.” Gavin’s heart swelled at the reassurance from his boyfriend. The truth was, since he’d met Percy two years ago, there’d always been this feeling like… maybe there was something  _ more. _ He couldn’t place it. He was drawn to Perce from the start, just as he was to Merlin, just as he was to Elyan. There was something in the way they acted that was so…  _ familiar _ , so comforting, and for someone who had spent so much of his life drifting, it was almost impossible not to want to latch onto Percy and never let him go. So, he did. He grabbed ahold of Percy, and he would grab ahold of Merlin and Elyan, and maybe they would get rid of the nagging incompleteness he’d been feeling.

“They’re just… easy to talk to. Like I’ve known them for longer than I actually have. I told Merlin about my  _ dad _ , Perce!” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t talk about my dad!”

“Well, maybe you have,” Percy suggested. Gavin raised an eyebrow.

“Have what?”

“Known them,” Percy said softly, as if regretting speaking up at all. Could he know them? Was it possible? On one hand, Gav was certain it wasn’t. Even if he  _ had _ met them before, why didn’t he remember? If he’d met them so briefly that he didn’t recall their meeting, then how could they possibly have formed such a connection? It wasn’t possible.  _ And yet… _ When his eyes met Merlin’s, Gav could swear on just about anything he’d seen those eyes before. He’d  _ trusted _ those eyes before. He’d told those eyes his darkest secrets, and known each and every secret that resided within them in return. He’d been with Merlin through hell and back, he  _ knew _ he had. But how could that be?

“Known them?” Gavin breathed. He could hear Elyan laughing in the back of his mind. They’d spoken for ten minutes, less, even, but the sound could play a hundred times over in Gavin’s head and it would never waver. He knew Elyan’s laugh inside and out. He’d been hearing it for years, how could he ever forget it?  _ Years? _ He knew Elyan. He knew how he thought, how he acted, understood his humor. He could speak to Elyan for hours on end and the laughter would never cease. How he longed to do so again.

“Gavin?” It took several more tries before Gavin blinked and looked over at Percy, but even then, his eyes were unfocused, still lost in deep, deep thought. In a final attempt to grab his attention, Percy burst out, “Gwaine!”

_ Gwaine. _

Merlin had called him  _ Gwaine _ .

And in an instant, everything was back in its place. The incompleteness that had been eating at  _ Gavin _ for as long as he could remember had at last been expelled. Because he wasn’t  _ Gavin _ , he never was.

“Percival,” Gwaine gasped.

―

Merlin returned to his office for his lunch break to find about a million missed calls from Percival. Instantly, anxiety crashed down on him, and he fumbled to call the number back. Percival had gone to brunch with Gwaine. Oh,  _ God _ , Gwaine was dead. Percival was dead, Gwaine was calling from his phone.  _ Every _ one was dead. The Citadel had burnt down. Oh  _ God- _ There was a beep as the call was picked up. Merlin wondered if Percival could hear the sound of his heart beating through the speaker.

“ _ Percival!” _

“We- I’m Gwaine- Wait, are you alright?”  _ Gwaine? _

“Gwaine?”

“Merlin!”

“Wait, what-”

“We’re driving to Wales.”  _ Wales? _

“You’re doing  _ what _ ?”

“I remember!” Merlin’s heart skipped a beat. Or several. In fact, it may have stopped entirely.

“Gwaine?” he stuttered softly, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, old friend. It’s me.” Tears filled Merlin’s eyes before he could even begin to stop them. They had Gwaine back.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t-”

“Don’t cry on me now.” Gwaine’s tone was light, but Merlin knew damn well the only reason  _ he _ wasn’t allowed to cry was because if he cried, Gwaine would too. He blinked rapidly, swiping away the tears with his shoulder.

“For the sake of your dignity, I’ll try. I can’t make any promises about the others though.”

“I appreciate the effort. And, uh, on that note, Merlin, I know where Mordred and Gaius are.” For the second time, Merlin’s heart just about stopped beating in his chest.

“Gwaine, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’m  _ serious _ , we’re driving to get them right now. We’ve called the others already, you seem to be the only one incapable of picking up the phone.”

“I’m working!” Merlin protested.

“Well, find a way to not be at work this evening. All goes well, we should all be back by five. If it doesn’t, we will be back at five with two of our friends unconscious in the backseat.”

“You’re a terrible man,” Percival’s voice came over the tiny speaker, muffled as if far away from the mic.

“And yet you love me anyways.” The tears Merlin had been struggling to hold back began to roll down his cheeks as the two knights began to bicker on the other end. How he’d missed listening to them tease each other. He’d never say so, not out loud, and in a couple days he knew he’d deny he’d thought so at all, but in that moment, he was glad to listen to the pair of them squabbling.

“Gwaine?”

“Yes, darling?” Gwaine replied, his voice on the edge of a laugh. Merlin rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his face.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Merlin.”

―

Gwen and Merlin worked on dinner quietly, listening to the music Leon and Elyan had on while they played cards in the living room. Without Percival, there were moments where Merlin forgot about the strangeness of the last few days. With just the four of them, there were moments when it felt the way it had felt for the last decade. Just the four of them. They’d spent many nights like this. It was comforting, predictable, and the deep, bubbling anxiety about Gwaine and Percival and Arthur slipped away the first time in what felt like ages. As long as he had lived, Merlin was still astonished by the slow, creeping pace of time. Every now and then, Elyan would burst out with a laugh as he won yet another round, and Leon would groan as he suggested ‘just one more hand’. 

Leon was a quiet card-player, like Gwen, serious and concentrated. Elyan was a wicked genius, strategic and cunning, and quick to cheer himself on. Some nights, Merlin was content watching Leon and Gwen play in silence, with not more than a smirk after a win. Other times he longed to hear Elyan play with Gwaine. Gwaine, the only one who could consistently beat the infamous Elyan. Gwaine, who confounded his poor friend by straying from every possible strategy and still managing to pick himself back up in the end. Leon may have mastered his poker face, but Gwaine was an actor and an artist. Albeit a chaotic one. Somehow, no one could beat him, but Elyan, stubbornly, continued to try. Nothing satisfied Gwaine more than the curses of Elyan’s defeat.

Merlin’s mind strayed from Gwaine to the rest of his friends. To Percival, who could lose against Gwaine over and over and still be certain the  _ next _ round would be his. To Mordred, who would look up at Merlin and ask telepathically which cards his opponent had. To Gaius, who would peer over shoulders and whisper the smartest next move. 

The sinking feeling returned to Merlin’s stomach. What if they had changed? What if they couldn't remember? What if they returned to the Citadel and Merlin could no longer anticipate each play, each comment, each smile? What if his friends came home and they weren’t who they used to be? What if he no longer knew them?

A knock at the door made Merlin’s heart leap once again, and he dropped the bowl he’d been holding, wincing as it clattered loudly against the counter.

“Merlin,” Gwen pulled him from his racing thoughts. Leon and Elyan drifted to the door of the kitchen, looking to their sorcerer and their queen for what to do next. It was time. “It’s okay, Merlin,” Gwen said.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Let’s get the door.” They did not take up their weapons as they made their way down the hall to the door, and the knights found themself reaching for swords that were not at their sides. It was for comfort, not the anticipation of a threat.

“On three,” Merlin whispered, but Leon laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“They aren’t enemies, Merlin. We’re expecting them.” 

“Right.” Gwen stepped forward and grabbed the handle. 

“It’s okay.” She nodded at him, and he nodded back.

“Gwen!” Gaius exclaimed. And then, looking past her, “Merlin!” The older man burst through the door and swept Merlin into his arms. Why had Merlin been anxious? Once Gaius hugged him, he couldn’t even remember. There were voices all around them, clamoring to embrace each other in the small hallway. When Merlin finally let his mentor go, Gwen was hugging Mordred. Gwaine was practically spinning Elyan around. Gaius’ hand brushed gently against the side of his face.

“You look younger, Gaius,” Merlin observed.

“You look older.”

“He’s a very old man,” Gwaine teased. Merlin fell into the knight’s arms, and for once it was not a one-armed half-hug, it was warm and firm and exactly what Merlin had been missing. He held on for a long time. They had many years to make up for, after all. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” Gwaine said, his voice muffled against Merlin’s shoulder.

“Indescribably so,” Merlin agreed. When he finally let Gwaine go, there were tears in his eyes.

“Merlin,” Gwaine complained. “You promised.”

“I quite specifically did not.”

“You’re going to make me cry.”

“Good,” Merlin laughed through the tears. He shoved Gwaine away when the knight cuffed his shoulder, turning to see Mordred beaming at him. 

“Hello, Emrys,” said the young man. Young Mordred who Merlin had come to consider his brother. When he blinked, a tear fell down his cheek.

“Hello, my friend,” Merlin said as he pulled the druid into his arms. “It’s been too long.”

“How long has it been,” Elyan’s voice rang out, “since we’ve all been in the same room? How long?” Merlin released Mordred and looked around at his friends, shoulder to shoulder in the narrow hall.

“Fifteen-hundred years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need yall to realize that Merlin/Mordred is like my favorite friendship (aside from Merlin n Gwen) and the fact that they weren't given the chance to talk shit telepathically in the show just drives me up the walls


	7. Excalibur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another familiar face...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Mordred. I love Mordred. I love Mordred.

As Merlin pulled his car to a stop in front of Gwaine’s tattoo parlor, Mordred let out a soft sigh. They’d been talking about him, his life. He had one more year left at university, and had been living with Gaius (an old family friend in this life) out of convenience.

“What?” Merlin questioned, pausing in his motion to turn off the car. Mordred hesitated for a moment, piecing the words together in his head.

“It’s just _strange_. To regain my memories, the old ones, but to still have the new ones living in my head.”

“Good strange or bad strange?” Merlin asked, leaning back into his seat. Gwaine, of all people, would not mind if he was a couple of minutes late for their appointment. They had decided, after the massive revelations about a week earlier, that they needed to continue their lives as usual for as long as possible because at the moment, they were all in completely uncharted territory. Continuing with their daily lives provided a much-needed sense of normalcy, kept friends and coworkers from suspecting anything, and made it so that Gwen and Merlin did not have to spend each day corralling the many men who would surely be floating in and out of the Citadel requiring assistance. Merlin’s love for his knights was unquestionably infinite, but the annoyance he could feel toward them when they invaded his home was nearly as strong.

“Not _bad_ ,” the druid finally explained. “Just strange. Gwaine… he’s a knight of Camelot. He’s a mentor to me, a friend whom I look up to. Yet in this life, he’s my eldest cousin!” Mordred chuckled and gestured toward the tattoo parlor as he spoke of Gwaine. 

“Is that so different?”

“Well… I don’t know! I had my first drink with him, he gave me my first tattoo.” Mordred held up his forearm, displaying the dark trees that wrapped around it, black contrasting brightly against his white skin. “He’s so _different_ in this life, and yet… he’s still so… _Gwaine._ I can’t explain it.”

“I can imagine,” Merlin reasoned, “that it must be difficult to see that your friend has changed and you haven’t been around to see the change happen. It’s been… I can’t even say how long it’s been since you two have been together.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mordred easily agreed. “I have memories. I know him, but there are always gaps. Cycles we didn’t spend together. I guess I’ve changed as well, but it’s always a bit more jarring to see how different the others are.”

“Somehow, despite my always being here, I feel a bit of that with each new cycle.”

“You do?”

“I do. You know why?” Mordred tilted his head, listening intently. His eyes were wide and green and so… _childlike_ . How could a being who’d lived through so much pain across so many lives look so painfully young? If there was one thing that struck Merlin to the bone with each reincarnation cycle, it was the reminder of how young Mordred had been when he first died. It had been so easy to forget at the time, but he would probably only barely be considered an adult if it were nowadays. Merlin turned, speaking to Mordred’s youthful face and bright, bright eyes. “Because even without the memories of our first life together, the things you all experience with each new cycle are real. They _count_ . It took me a while to realize it. And _accept_ it, I guess. But you each change and grow in every life before you even begin to remember. It’s good. Strange, but good.”

“Wise words from a wise man. Careful, Merlin. You’re beginning to sound your age.” Merlin laughed and cuffed Mordred’s shoulder gently.

“I am old, I gladly admit it. It means my wisdom will never be rivaled,” he defended himself with a smile.

“I won’t deny you always seem to know the perfect thing to say.”

“It comes with all these years of comforting you knights. Centuries of practice,” Merlin said as he let himself out of the driver’s side door. Mordred stepped out on the other side, resting his hands on the roof of the car as he continued to speak.”

“No, even when Arthur was king. Even in _Camelot_. We may have butted heads, but when you wanted to, you could always ease my mind.”

“I’m glad,” Merlin smiled, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed the regret he still felt about his mistrust of Mordred in their first life. “Too bad I spent so much time trying to prove your guilt when I could have been throwing my wise anecdotes your way.” Mordred laughed, moving to shut the door on his side. Merlin followed suit, then pressed a button on the key fob and the car chirped as Mordred made his way around the car.

“Let’s go, _old man_.”

―

Laughter rang out as Gwaine cleaned blood and ink from Merlin’s arm, presenting the finished product to the fascinated warlock. He had decided, even after Gwaine’s memories had returned, that he would allow his friend to finish the piece. What was the harm anyway? Plus, he wanted to see what the final product would look like. He was incredibly glad he’d let Gwaine finish it, because it was truly beautiful work. The sword was meticulously shaded, and colored yellow-gold to resemble the real Excalibur. The runes, which Gwaine warned may fade with time, were sharp and clear, and as he read them, Merlin whispered the Old English words. He slowly reached out to touch the swollen skin but Gwaine slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you dare. It’ll get infected.” Merlin raised an eyebrow and realized he could do what he’d been itching (pun intended) to do since the night of his first session. He looked at Gwaine, then down at his arm, and his eyes glowed an even brighter gold than the ink in his skin as he breathed a spell to heal his tattoo. Then, glancing back up at Gwaine triumphantly, Merlin ran his fingers down his forearm. Mordred barked out a laugh and reached past Gwaine to touch the tattoo as well. “That’s cheating,” Gwaine complained.

“I can’t believe how long I spent going mad not being able to itch this thing. If only I knew I could heal it in a second,” said Mordred, looking down at the inked forest that wrapped around his right forearm.

“Oi, some of us don’t get to magically heal our itchy tattoos. We have to wait it out like regular people.”

“And that’s really unfortunate for you.” Merlin nodded at Gwaine in mock solemnity, and the knight responded with a light shove, which resulted in another eruption of laughter from the three of them. They jested back and forth for several more minutes as Gwaine cleaned up his station, and all the while Merlin continued to glance down at his new tattoo, pleased and enthralled by the ink in his arm. It was a little piece of the old days, of Camelot and Arthur and how young the two of them had been, of Kilgharrah, of Freya and beautiful Avalon. A little bit of magic inscribed on his skin. He loved it.

“Hey, Gavin?” There was a soft knock on the thin walls of the booth, and the blonde woman from the front desk stuck her head in. “You guys almost finished in here?”

“Oh, right, just about,” Gwaine stumbled, glaring when Mordred giggled at him. “Do you need me?”

“Yeah, I might. I wouldn’t have bugged you but I got a walk-in and your appointment is…”

“Over,” Gwaine assured her. “We’re just loitering.” She smiled apologetically.

“Thanks, Gav. I’ll let him know you’ll be out in a bit.”

“Oh, send him in. I’d rather do his consultation in here anyway if that’s what he’s here for. I’ll get these two out quick, I promise.”

“Alright,” the young woman smiled again, and all three men smiled back. As soon as she slipped out, Mordred snorted and slid back in his chair.

“Kicking us out then, are you?”

“Hey, just because you don’t have a job doesn’t mean the rest of us have to babysit you all day. I’ve got work to do, money to make.”

“Boo,” Mordred scowled. Merlin grinned and ruffled Mordred’s hair, standing from the black vinyl seat and stretching with a loud groan.

“It’s alright, Mordred, I’ll take you out to lunch.” Mordred sighed dramatically, but stood and scooted around Gwaine’s chair and table of tools to get to Merlin.

“At least Merlin _feeds_ me, Gwaine. You’re kicking us out and _you_ didn’t even offer tea.”

“This is a tattoo parlor, you freak,” Gwaine said, throwing his balled-up gloves at the druid. Mordred dodged them, cackling, and the gloves fell to the ground at the feet of a man who had just stepped into the booth. Mordred and Merlin continued to laugh while Gwaine apologized, but when their eyes rose to his face, it was as if all air had been sucked from the room. 

Gwaine was the first to react, barking out a surprised laugh and dropping his tattoo gun with a clatter. The sound made the others jump, but he did not move from his place, seated by his little table, to pick up what he had dropped. His jaw fell slack.

Mordred’s hands rose to cover his mouth, eyes widening in delayed shock. He had never met the man who stood before them, but he could recognize from years of stories and descriptions who it was. He glanced slowly between Gwaine and Merlin.

Merlin quite literally fell to his knees. He stumbled, grasping for the chair he knew was behind him, but could not find it, and settled instead on sinking to his knees and sitting back once he’d reached the ground. He could barely breathe.

There, he was _right there_. His man, his love, his Lancelot.

Lancelot himself looked entirely confused, as would anyone in his position. He looked between each man with wide eyes, unable to comprehend what was happening. Had he missed something? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Tears filled Merlin’s eyes at the sound of Lancelot’s voice. God, his _voice_ . In a thousand years, one can forget just how beautiful the sound of their lover’s voice can be. Merlin had forgotten. By the Gods, Merlin had forgotten. He thought he could imagine the sound, the way Lancelot said certain things, the smirk in his voice when he teased. He thought he remembered, but hearing it now struck him in a way he didn’t quite realize was possible. He had forgotten. Lancelot’s voice was so soft. Low and soft and gentle and warm and so… _Lancelot_. When Merlin began to cry, Lancelot glanced between the other two men, still frozen in shock, then stepped forward and knelt before the warlock.

“Hey,” he murmured, reaching out and gently nudging Merlin into a more comfortable position. “Hey, are you alright?” Merlin flinched at each touch, and longed to curl away and try to process what the hell was happening, but when his eyes met Lancelot’s he was caught. Oh, mercy, he was caught. “Just breathe, it’s okay,” Lancelot said, uncertain. He pulled back a bit, afraid of crossing any boundaries.

“I’m alright,” Merlin whispered. “Sorry, I’m alright.” He began to get back on his feet but Lancelot stopped him, trapping him in a seated position. They were just _inches_ away from each other. _By the Gods,_ Merlin thought.

“Maybe you should sit for a moment,” he suggested. As Merlin scrambled to collect his thoughts, the other two seemed to unfreeze, finally able to come to his aid. Quite poorly, unfortunately.

“I think,” Gwaine said, rising from his seat at last so that he and Mordred stood on either side of their (fallen) friend. “I think you just caught us a bit by surprise.” Gwaine, a master bullshitter, was not impressing anyone with his bullshitting at that moment.

“He… has a weak heart,” Mordred tried. _Worse_. Merlin, eyes still locked on Lancelot’s, brushed his tears away, and remembered which muscles were used for smiling. 

“You reminded me of someone, that’s all,” he whispered. Reaching up and brushing his fingers against the knight’s stubbled jaw. “Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

“I’m sorry,” Lancelot breathed, even softer than Merlin.

“Don’t be,” the warlock replied with another smile. “Don’t ever be sorry.” Lancelot’s eyes finally broke away from Merlin’s but only to look down at the other man’s forearm, moving Merlin’s hand from his face so he could look at the sword that stood out against Merlin’s pale skin, in its bold color as well as its newness. Healed or not, it was clearly recently done.

“This is beautiful,” said Lancelot. Was there a hint of recognition in his voice?

“He’s called Excalibur.” Merlin’s eyes had not left Lancelot’s face, even when the knight looked down at his arm.

“Excalibur.” Lancelot’s breath brushed Merlin’s arm and he shivered, the soft gust causing his hair to stand up.

The strangeness he felt in Lancelot’s proximity almost kept Merlin from realizing what was happening. Almost. The hair on his arm stood, goosebumps rising on his skin, and then the chill spread throughout his body. He didn’t question it. Lancelot gave him the shivers, so what? His eyes shifted out of focus for a moment, and his hands began to shake. Not a noticeable shake, but the type felt when one squeezes their fist just after waking up, or if they over-exert themselves after failing to eat for most of the day. It was a weakness. A loss of control. Merlin ignored the feeling. It was just shock, it had to be. He brushed off every sign until he felt the unmistakable drop in his stomach, the pull in his chest. 

Avalon.

“Shit,” Merlin cursed, causing Lancelot to look up at him, dark eyes filled with concern. Merlin’s heart ached to stay with Lancelot and his eyes, but one did not ignore the call of the Lake. He turned, looking over his right shoulder at Gwaine, whose face was painted with understanding. Then over his left at Mordred, jaw set, determined. “We have to go.”

Merlin burst to his feet before Lancelot could stop him, and by the time he’d collected himself, Gwaine had already left the booth, rambling apologies to the poor woman at the desk. Mordred was close behind, smiling apologetically. Lancelot, bewildered, followed Merlin out, reaching out and grabbing the warlock’s hand before he could leave.

“Wait.” It was soft, gentle, filled with confusion that Merlin longed to clear from his mind. “Please, wait.”

“I’m sorry, I have to-” When Merlin turned to face the knight his eyes were wide, almost fearful. “I have to go,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t explain-”

“I know,” Merlin sighed. “I know it’s strange.” He squeezed Lancelot’s hand, then released it to rush to the desk. “Er, pen and paper, please.” The blonde woman complied unquestioningly. “Thank you.” Merlin scribbled down his number on the notepad she’d handed him and tore the page off, pressing the slip of paper to Lancelot’s chest. “I’m Merlin,” he said, and before he could think to stop himself, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lancelot’s cheek. “Call me.” And with that he was gone, bursting out to the street behind Mordred and Gwaine. Lancelot blinked, holding the paper against his chest with both hands. 

“I’m Lance,” he murmured, to no one in particular.

―

They left the tattoo parlor in silence, Gwaine sliding into the backseat without question or complaint. As he sped out of town toward the Citadel, Merlin could feel Mordred’s eyes on him. Gwaine’s too, even from the back. He gripped the wheel tighter and stepped a bit harder on the gas.

“Easy now,” Gwaine all but whispered.

All Merlin could think was, _they know_. They saw. They know. _They know._ His heart pounded, his ears rang in the silence. He reached out and flicked the radio on, only to be greeted by a loud talk show host. Growling in frustration, Merlin changed the channel, blasting out an upbeat techno song from the pop radio. He changed it again, more talking, crap music, talking, crap. He turned it back off and sped up again, engine whirring loudly as he flew down the highway out of the city.

“Merlin,” Mordred spoke this time. _Faster._ “Merlin?” _Faster._

“Merlin!” Gwaine’s raised voice snapped Merlin out of his trance and he eased off the gas pedal slowly.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Silence followed, all the way up until they reached the Citadel. Merlin didn’t move when they arrived, and Gwaine glanced between him and Mordred before sighing and taking charge.

“Mordred, get the others.” The younger man obeyed. “Merlin, get out, I’m driving.”

“You’ll get lost.”

“You’ll help me. Get out.” With a huff, Merlin grudgingly got out of the car, standing outside Gwaine’s door as he waited for the knight to follow. When Gwaine stepped out, he caught Merlin by the shoulders before the warlock could slip back inside. “Merlin,” he said softly. Merlin looked down. Away. Anywhere but Gwaine’s eyes. “ _Merlin_. It’s okay.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gwaine sighed, releasing Merlin’s arms. The dark-haired wizard did now move, however, just stood and stared at his feet.

“It’s okay,” Gwaine said again. “It’s okay that you love him.” At last, Merlin looked up, and when he did his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. “What do I do?” 

“You get him back, Merlin. Just like you got me back, just like you get all of us back every cycle. It’s no different. We’ll get him back.” Tears rolled down Merlin’s cheeks, and the sight of them made Gwaine’s eyes well up as well.

“What if-”

“We’ll get him back,” Gwaine repeated, pulling Merlin into a hug. “We will.” _We have to_.

―


	8. Eight: The Siblings Pendragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the gang's all here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lonk chapter featuring a flashback that was the result of a horrible research sinkhole I fell into while writing this thing

On the 28th of April, 1945, British General Arthur Pendragon lay bleeding in the woods outside of Hamburg, Germany. His right arm lay limp at his side, his uniform stained almost black from a wound at his shoulder. His rifle was shattered an arm’s length away, his revolver on the ground somewhere in between. In his left hand, he gripped Merlin’s arm, pulling the warlock down to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t cry, Merlin. Don’t cry.”

“How can I not?” Merlin snapped. “You’re dying. I’m a doctor, you won’t let me-” He tried to yank his hand away but Arthur held fast, stubbornly pulling Merlin back down to him.

“It’s alright, you idiot. It’s over.”

“It’s not over! How can you say that?”

“ _ Mer _ lin. It’s over. The tide’s been turned for over a year. After this? It’s over, Merlin. The world will be okay.”

“What about-”

“Merlin!” Morgana’s voice broke through the clamor of shouting and gunfire. “Arthur!” Just off the road, less than a hundred meters away, Morgana lept from the truck she’d pulled to a hasty stop and sprinted toward her fallen brother.

“Morgana?” Merlin cried. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He’s hurt isn’t he?” She crashed through the brush, arriving at Merlin’s side and seeing her brother on the ground, with his uniform torn and bloodied. “ _ Shit _ .”

“Oh, Morgana,” Arthur smiled. “Oh,  _ good _ . Good, I’m glad you’re here.” He grunted and lifted his right hand weakly from the ground, reaching up to grab ahold of his sister’s. She watched as he smeared her gloves with his blood.

“You  _ idiot _ ,” she growled. “You idiot.”

“Gana, how many times have you watched me die?”

“Too many!” She sunk to her knees, and after leaning down and pressing a tearful kiss to Arthur’s forehead, reached out to take Merlin’s free hand. The two of them locked eyes, and Merlin was thankful she’d broken protocol to come to them. At least they were together. Merlin guessed Gaius would be gone by the time he returned to the ambulance outside the city, but at least Morgana was here.

“What do I always tell you, Merlin,” Arthur gasped out, weakly reaching up to brush the tears from Merlin’s cheeks. “No man is worth your tears.” Merlin laughed and grabbed Arthur’s hand, holding it against his face.

“ _ You _ are. You always were.”

―

Gwaine took over driving when they departed from the Citadel, Gwen in the back with Merlin, and Mordred once again in the passenger seat, directing Gwaine as well as he could (with Gwen’s help) while also keeping an eye on the others driving close behind.

As they drove in silence, his fingers twined loosely with Gwen’s in the center seat, Merlin found himself remembering the last time Arthur had been reincarnated. It had been so long. So excruciatingly long since that day on the battlefield with the bullets raining down on them, and it had been quite nearly as long since Merlin had chosen to think about those final moments. Every return to the Lake was hard. Every death hurt as much as the first one. But it had been different that day in 1945. Final, chaotic, but strangely, peaceful. So much so that when the bullets bit into Merlin’s back he thought maybe, maybe this was the end. Maybe this would be it. 

Maybe that was why he’d been so afraid of Arthur not returning this time around. Because for the first time, he’d been surprised when he reawoke in the woods alone, half expecting never to wake up again. Maybe Arthur’s “it’s okay”s and “don’t cry”s and “it’s over, Merlin”s had been his own messed up way of saying goodbye. Permanently. Merlin had tried not to think about it, even when fifty years passed with no sign of his friends. Even when a decade with Leon and Gwen and Elyan passed with no sign of the King himself. 

But now he was back. Now, Merlin and the others felt the familiar pull of the Lake, tugging at them, missing them, calling them to retrieve their king. They felt the cold hands of the Lady of Avalon, chilling their skin as she led them home.

Merlin longed to feel the buzz of energy that Gwen was clearly feeling. He tilted his head to look at her, staring out the window with her hand covering her mouth, left knee bouncing excitedly. He  _ should _ be excited. It was Arthur! Arthur was back! He sighed and slid down in his seat, pressing his forehead to the edge of the window.

_ What if he wasn’t? _ What if something was different? It wasn’t as if this cycle could stray any further from the regular patterns.  _ Woah, better knock on wood- _

“Merlin,” Gwaine said from the front seat when Merlin stirred, alarmed by his own thoughts. “It’s okay.” Why Gwaine was paying attention to him and not the road, Merlin wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t deny he was comforted by the knight’s insistent words. He was comforted by Gwen squeezing his fingers, and the sweet smile Mordred flashed back at him.

_ ‘He’ll be there,’ _ came the druid’s voice in his head.  _ ‘You’ll see.’ _ Merlin smiled back, and sat up to help direct Gwaine down the forest road they had turned on. Merlin knew the way best, after all.

As soon as Merlin and the others burst from their cars, the placid water bagan to ripple. Something deep, magical, older and more powerful than even himself, dragged Merlin toward the water’s edge. He waded in, Gwen close behind, until the water rose to his knees and the churning and bubbling just meters ahead of them began sending waves to the shore. Merlin bit his lip nervously, watching the dark water.  _ Freya, _ he called out with his mind.  _ My friend, are you there? Does he rise? _ A response did not come, but beside him, Guinevere reached out and gripped his hand once more, and when he looked down at her, she smiled back with a fiery warmth. At his left, a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Merlin turned to see Leon on his other side, a firm, solid body of reassurance.  _ Come then, _ thought Merlin as he turned back to the seething lake.  _ Come home _ .

The warlock’s eyes glowed a hot gold, and hardly a moment later, bodies broke the surface of the water. From the depth rose two figures, soaked and gasping, leaning heavily on each other as they waded to the shore. Merlin gasped in relief, stumbling backward in shock. Around him, the others swarmed the two newcomers, risen at last from the Lake. Gwen fell into Arthur’s arms in a heartbeat, and the king’s achingly familiar voice cried out, “Guinevere!” as they embraced. Beside them, Leon swept up Morgana, who laughed and held her husband as he lifted her gleefully from the water. As soon as Leon released her, Mordred flew into Morgana’s arms, and she held him for a long time, occasionally pressing kisses to his hairline and whispering in an old forgotten druid tongue.

“Gwaine!” Arthur beamed. “Elyan, Percival!” They clasped arms and embraced, slapping shoulders and smiling brightly. “Gaius,” Arthur gasped, hugging the older man when he saw him, voice laced with wonder. “What is this? How can this be?” Tearful laughs filled the air, and as Merlin watched his friends reuniting before his eyes, his heartbeat finally began to slow. Strength returned to his fists, and he felt as if he could breathe again, as if life had at last returned to his lungs. Slowly, a smile began to form on his lips, a laugh bubbled in his throat. He began to feel the excitement and elation of the return of his king, elated when the siblings Pendragon broke away from his friends and turned to Merlin himself.

Merlin threw himself gladly into Arthur’s arms, holding him tightly, never wanting to let go. The king laughed against Merlin’s neck, returning the embrace just as fiercely.

“I’ve missed you,” Merlin whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Arthur whispered back, and in that moment Merlin loved so deeply. He loved his friends, he loved his king. The anxieties about Arthur’s return, the fears and the memories he’d been burying deep inside himself, dissipated in an instant. The moment he heard Arthur’s voice rumbling against his ear.

It was only when they broke apart that he realized the abnormalities.

When Arthur leaned back, Merlin suddenly felt the cold water that had seeped from Arthur’s clothing into his. He could see that Arthur’s blond hair was dripping wet, much like his uniform, a soft brown stained dark by water and blood. The stain spread from his right shoulder, where a bullet-shaped tear was visible in the fabric. From where Merlin held the king’s arms, he could feel the general’s insignia patch peeling off his jacket, the threads tearing and coming loose in one corner. His light shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his tie was undone, hanging freely on his chest. Merlin’s breath left him once again.

Morgana stepped up behind her brother, a look of worry on her face, and Merlin again stumbled back toward the shore, chest clenching with fear and dread. She too wore the uniform she’d last died in. Brown jacket and skirt muddied, bloodstained, and soaked, just like Arthur’s. Merlin let out a soft whimper when he looked at her, the beginnings of a sob catching in his throat. By the sun and stars, if she was not as breathtaking as she’d been the day she’d last died. Even with her dark hair falling in loose, wet curls over her shoulders, even with her bright lipstick smudged and her brows knotted with worry. 

“Merlin?” questioned Arthur. “What’s wrong, my friend?”

“Merlin, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” said Morgana, voice echoing the same concern as Arthur’s.

“Merlin?” said Arthur again, reaching out for him, and Merlin’s wide eyes locked next on Arthur’s empty hands.

“Where is your sword?” he breathed.

“My sword?” Arthur looked down, and seemed to notice for the first time what he was wearing. “My- What is this?” he gasped. He spun to look at Morgana, who was looking between his uniform and her own in horror. The others murmured, wading toward the newly risen siblings. “Merlin, what is this?” Arthur’s eyes caught those of each of his friends, his knights, his subjects. There were too many of them. He held no sword. What was happening?

“I don’t know,” Merlin told him. “I don’t know. I don’t understand it.” Every cycle, without fail, Arthur rose in his mail and cloak, he rose with Excalibur gripped proudly in his right hand. He rose as he had been first laid to rest, not in the messy soldier’s uniform of his last death. It was the way of things, it was a  _ rule _ . 

When Arthur’s frantic gaze caught Merlin’s as they stood there in the water, there was something akin to fear in both of their eyes.

―

Merlin rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he listened to his friends, his  _ family _ , jabbering away inside. They were playing some sort of game, and it sounded as though Arthur was losing quite badly. Behind the warlock, the screen door creaked, then closed, along with the glass door, muffling the voices inside. Careful footsteps sounded as someone joined him on the back porch. When they sat down heavily beside him, Merlin looked up, smiling weakly when he saw Leon before him. Oh, Leon. Sweet, loyal Leon. 

“No card games for the great wizard Merlin tonight?”

“The great wizard Merlin is trying to figure out how the hell this is all happening. How are they all here? Where is Excalibur? Why did Morgana rise with Arthur from the Lake? Why was he not wearing his armor?”

“Why worry?” the knight said softly, knowing well Merlin would scoff at his words. “Why question what has happened when it brings the others so much joy?”

“Because there are  _ rules _ , Leon. I spent years rationalizing and studying these blasted cycles and now all the rules are breaking all at once and I don’t know what to do!” Merlin exclaimed into the night, disrupting the crickets who were leaping and singing in the grass at the foot of the stairs.

“Maybe they weren’t rules,” Leon suggested. “Maybe things just happened to be a certain way.”

“No, they were rules. Things don’t  _ happen _ to be anything when it comes to Arthur. The frequency, your numbers, the forgetting, Arthur’s armor, his  _ leaving _ . They’re rules. And they’ve never wavered till now. Why now? God, Leon, I’m so happy to have them all back but at what price? It’s killing me!” Leon frowned at his hands and twisted his ring, as he often did when he was thinking. Merlin noticed, however, that for the first time in nearly a decade, Leon’s knotted brow relaxed when he looked down at the silver band. For the first time in many years, he was comforted by its place on his hand, not reminded of his worry for Morgana. Merlin smiled bitterly, thinking of Lancelot, as he sometimes did when he caught sight of Leon’s ring.

_ Lancelot _ . There was another matter he’d need to figure out.

“Maybe you need to go back to the Lake,” he said. “Maybe you need to ask for guidance.” It had never worked so well before. Some years he could see Freya’s face in the water, smiling up at him, and he could feel in his heart that she was there with him, but he had not heard her voice in over fifteen-hundred years. He had not spoken to Kilgharrah since the great dragon’s passing so many centuries ago. Who on earth was there for him to ask for guidance?

“Leon,” Merlin said, very softly, but the knight continued on.

“I know, you don’t think anything will happen. But things are different this time anyway, why wouldn’t they be different with the Lake as well?”

“Leon,” Merlin said again.

“Or maybe, Merlin, we should just…  _ let it be! _ I don’t think any of us would be so opposed to that!”

“Leon!” Merlin raised his voice. “There’s something else.” At last the knight looked back at Merlin and away from the window he’d shifted to look at, watching Morgana laughing through the glass. Merlin wanted nothing more than to  _ let it be _ . To let Leon and Morgana be happy. To let Gwaine and Percival be happy. To let Arthur and Guinevere be happy. But questions continued to pound in his mind.  _ Why? _

“What is it?” asked Leon, shifting to once again face Merlin, as he always did when he listened. Polite, gentlemanly as always. From Merlin’s back pocket, a notification sounded, and sheepishly, the warlock pulled the phone from his pocket, face paling when he saw the message. It was as if he could sense when he was being spoken of. Merlin stared down at the unsaved number and the introductory message beneath it, and his hands began to shake. When he looked up at Leon, there were tears in the warlock’s eyes.

“Lancelot.”

“Lancelot?”

“He’s- Leon, he’s-” Merlin’s voice broke, and around the two of them, an ancient energy crackled. Merlin was a child of magic, a child of the Earth. When Merlin grieved, the Earth grieved alongside him, and this, well, this was centuries of pain and desperation and hopelessness spilling free. No one had longed for any moment to come as Merlin had this one. For Lancelot to return, for the full power of Arthur’s knights to be restored. But now that the possibility lay within his grasp, the fear of losing it all was greater than ever before. “I saw him, Leon,” Merlin sobbed. “He’s returned.”


	9. Fall on Your Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, we've reached the penultimate chapter, and things sure are getting spicy. But you may be wondering, where is Lancelot? Where is the romance? Wasn't this was meant to be a romance?? The answer to all those questions, dearest readers, is I have literally no idea. Maybe there'll be more than ten chapters. Maybe fate only intended for this story to be a bunch of friendship blabber and immortality lore. I really don't know.

“So,” Arthur said as he sat down, flashing a smile at Merlin, who was gathering the cards that were strewn over the table. “What have I missed?” Merlin looked blankly up at him for a moment. Two nights now. Two nights back and not a thing had happened. Merlin had not responded to Lancelot’s message, he hadn’t even saved the man’s number in his phone. The great King Arthur had returned, yet there was not a whisper of evil in the air. The wizard was getting anxious. 

He shook his head and circled his thoughts back to Arthur’s question.  _ ‘What have I missed?’,  _ he’d said. The king drummed excitedly on his knees, looking far too young and blond and… hopeful to have been the continent’s savior so many times in the past.  _ Focus, Merlin. _ This question game had become a bit of a tradition over the years, once it stopped being so off-putting and frightening to pop up in a new time period. When they found the time, Arthur and Merlin and anyone else who had come back would sit down and go over the latest inventions, the fashion, the pop-culture. All the newest things Arthur needed to know about. 

“Well.” Merlin forced a smile despite the difficult last couple of days that were eating at him, it had been a busy century, and an exciting one. “ _ Literature _ . You wouldn’t believe the art that came out after the war. T.S. Eliot, Sylvia Plath, E.E. Cummings. I guess you remember Virginia Woolf-”

“ _ Lord of the Rings _ ,” Gwaine blurted out. “And  _ Narnia _ .” Merlin grinned and nodded, and Gwaine and the others explained the premise of both series’.

“Salinger,” Mordred added next. “The Beatles!” He batted excitedly at the table. “ _ Rock and roll _ .”

“Rock and roll?” Arthur echoed.

“Oh yes. Aretha Franklin,” Gwen grinned, giving Arthur’s arm a squeeze. “And Nina Simone.” There was a hum of pleased approval around the table.

“Mm, Jazz. Ella Fitzgerald,” said Elyan. “But however many beautiful singers they produce, America is still entirely a mess.” Arthur scoffed.

“That’s not new.” Laughs floated around the crowded living room.

“Penicillin, and lots of other antibiotics,” Gaius, the physician that he was, added to the list, exciting Merlin.

“CRISPR,” Merlin said softly, trying to get into the thrill of recounting humanity’s advancements. So many incredible inventions and improvements, what’s not to be excited about? He flashed a small smile. “And chemotherapy.” So the list went on. Newer cars, computers, The Rolling Stones, the moon landing, Queen, cellphones, the Civil Rights movement,  _ Pulp Fiction _ , Instagram.

“ABBA,” Mordred said, very seriously. Silence fell for a moment, eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” gasped Leon. “Color television!  _ Star Wars! _ ”

“Really!” Arthur grinned. “Now  _ color television _ I can get behind! Do tell me about  _ Star Wars. _ ” It went on like this for some time, sharing the latest and greatest with Arthur, until gradually, the company began to disperse. Gaius was tired, and he and Mordred made their way back to their hotel as the sun sank low on the horizon. Gwaine and Percival were next, saying their goodbyes and their see-you-tomorrows before heading to Percival’s for the night. With Arthur and Morgana now staying in the Citadel, it was becoming too crowded to house everyone. Eventually, Elyan bid the others goodnight and made his way upstairs, and Leon followed soon after, pressing a kiss to Morgana’s hairline when she told him with a soft smile that she would stay up a bit longer. 

And then there were four.

The Once and Future King and Queen. The last High Priestess. The most powerful mage of all time. They sat comfortably around the cluttered card table, not legends, but old friends, simply enjoying each other's company. Arthur and Morgana sipped twin glasses of whisky and murmured to Gwen, who swirled a glass of noir, about the happenings of the last few weeks. It was a scene out of a painting: elegant, regal, breathtaking. The three royals wore their status effortlessly, even in the worn-down living room of a worn-down house in the worn-down English countryside. Merlin sat on the floor, no drink in his hand, and listened, but did not speak. His eyes lingered on the black screen of his phone, on which he’d received another message from Lancelot earlier that day. A message he’d again elected not to respond to. It was overwhelming. Overwhelming and frightening and new, and he forced himself to be wary, however much it pained him. Because nothing, Merlin told himself, nothing would hurt more than losing Lancelot a third time.

“Merlin,” Morgana said after a while. “You’re quiet.”

“You’ve been quiet for days,” Gwen added softly. The two women glanced at each other, communicating silently, as they always seemed able to do. It was no telepathic connection, nothing like what Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred could do, but there were times when it truly seemed something kindred to magic.

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered. Arthur leaned forward, silently, and Merlin felt the urge to look away. It was beginning to feel like an interrogation. 

“Perhaps it’s time,” Morgana started slowly, “to address the elephant in the room.”

“That Arthur cannot hold his liquor?” Merlin tried for a joke in an attempt to steer the conversation from this particular topic. For two days and nights, he’d been able to keep from discussing the matter any more than was necessary.

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” sniffed Arthur, taking another sip from his glass. When Gwen shot him a look, he slowly lowered his drink, and adjusted again in his seat, leaning to reach the level of Merlin’s face. “Merlin, we need to talk about what we’re going to do about Lancelot.” 

When Merlin had told the others that first night of who he, Gwaine, and Mordred had met in the tattoo parlour, chaos had arisen. Every one of them had wanted to see him, Arthur most of all, but Merlin requested they wait, scope things out, and for God’s sake, avoid falling into whatever sick trap this had to be. They’d argued back and forth until Arthur was shouting and Merlin was shouting and shouting and shouting until they were both crying and wishing for Lancelot to be there. To remember. For the next two days Merlin could not shake the image of the knight’s face, his warm brown eyes, startled and wide when he’d watched Merlin fall to his knees before him. He could not shake the centuries of pain and longing that weighed on each and every one of his friends, on himself. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Merlin mumbled. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“So we figure it out, Merlin. It’s what we’ve always done,” Gwen said desperately, she was growing increasingly worried at Merlin’s silence, the grave look he could not wipe from his face. In every life, nothing was more important to Gwen than the happiness of her loved ones. Of Merlin and Arthur, her boys. How could she be happy if one of them was not? “We’ll figure it out, Merlin,” she repeated, but the warlock scowled and shook his head.

“What is there to figure out?” he burst out finally, jumping to his feet as he did. “Everything is wrong. There must be something wrong this cycle. There’s something out there, something that threatens humanity itself, there’s something… There’s  _ something _ !” 

“Merlin!” Arthur snapped, setting down his glass and standing before the warlock. “Why do we need to justify Lancelot and the others’ return with some  _ apocalypse _ ? Have you not  _ missed _ the man? Why can’t we just be happy we’re together? Why can’t we be happy he’s returned? For God’s sake, Merlin why can’t we just  _ let it be? _ ” Let it be.  _ Let it be _ . But he couldn’t. Merlin couldn’t, not when every ounce of structure he’d had for the last fifteen-hundred years was crumbling before his eyes. Every pattern he thought he understood, all of it was wrong, and nothing scared him more than the not understanding.  _ Fifteen-hundred years.  _ He’d spent lifetimes upon lifetimes breaking his back to understand the Lake’s mysteries, and nothing scared him more than the thought of being in the dark again, of sifting through riddles and making mistakes and  _ not knowing _ again. No, he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

“Because  _ something _ is wrong,” he stated, straightening before his king as he did, rising to his full height, which was just a touch taller than the blond. Arthur held fast, but there was an otherworldly power about Merlin when he spoke. A power that seemed to grow each time Arthur returned. Merlin was no longer the young boy from Ealdor, grappling with the reality of his abilities. No, Merlin was a powerful, spectacular force, and he was filled, in that fraction of a second, with a fierce grief, a  _ fear _ , a darkness. When Merlin spoke, Arthur knew no man, mortal or otherwise, could stand in the warlock’s way. “Something is wrong, and if I don’t understand it, it’s going to drive me mad.” And with that, he went to move out of the room. As he strode past the couch, Morgana caught his arm, standing and pulling him to her. Merlin prepared to brush her off, but the dark-haired woman simply kissed his cheek and gripped his hand tightly.

‘ _ Be safe, _ ’ rang out her voice in his head. Merlin gave her a sharp nod, then turned over his shoulder to speak to her brother.

“And for the record, Arthur, I’ve missed Lancelot more than you could possibly know.”

When he swept out of the house, Arthur thought briefly that Merlin looked more like a king at that moment than he himself ever had. 

―

Merlin was frantic by the time he reached the Lake. He jerked to an abrupt stop, his car tilted at an awkward angle off the road. He yanked up the parking brake and threw himself out of the vehicle, keys still in the ignition, door hanging open. He stumbled down the beach with his arms outstretched, reaching for some kind of  _ sign _ . He tore off his shoes and kicked at the rocks at the water’s edge, laughing and crying and everything in between until finally he fell back and sat on the beach, cuffing his damp jeans before they could get any damper, and rubbing the tears from his cheeks.

“I don’t understand!” he shouted at the Lake, clambering unsteadily back to his feet. “I don’t understand what’s happening!” Rationally, he knew it was no use. He knew there would be no response. He knew he needed to get back to the house and apologize for getting so upset. But, before he could turn away and walk back up the beach, there was a movement in the black water, reflections glittering as the ripples began to form. Slowly, a figure rose from the Lake and stepped toward him, despite the fact that they were much too far out in the water to possibly touch the ground. They stepped heavy, exhausted steps. Feeling the Lake’s pull, Merlin set his shoes down and walked toward the figure until the soft waves lapped at the bottom of his rolled-up jeans, and then he walked further. The figure that struggled nearer became more familiar the closer he got to it. Soon, he was waist-deep, and standing in the water before him was a woman he thought he’d never touch again. “Freya?” he hardly dared breathe. 

“I’m here,” she murmured, taking his hand. Hers was cold and wet, but so solid, so real. He never wanted to let go of her hand. “I hear you, Merlin. Your confusion, your pain.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he choked out. 

“You don’t need to do anything, Merlin,” she said gently. He looked up in surprise. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You always came to the Lake when you were hurting. Especially after Arthur and the others would leave you. I hated to think of the pain you had to endure, but the Albion needed a savior. The  _ world _ needed a savior.”

“I know.” He knew this. He’d come to terms with it. 

“But Merlin,” Freya said with a smile. “You don’t need to be a savior anymore. The world evolves. A time of magic may come again, but technology is a gift in its own way. It’s a new era, Merlin. An era in which humanity must learn to save itself.”

“So what- what does that mean for me?”

“It means you’re free, darling.”

“Free?” Merlin hardly knew the meaning of the word. 

“You’ve given so much, it was the least I could do to give you something in thanks. So I returned your family to you, all of them, however tight death’s hold on them was. They will live long, full lives, Merlin, not fractions.”

“How? How can that be?”

“I’ve made it so, Merlin.”

“I thought... I just thought you know, what comes from the Lake returns to the Lake. I thought there were rules.” Freya smiled and shook her head, brushing her cold hand against his cheek. 

“Not this time, darling. Not this time.” The happiness, the relief that flooded his chest was indescribable, but before he got that chance to savor it he remembered the difficult truth he’d learned over the years: time was love’s greatest enemy. Merlin outlived all that he loved. Freya seemed to read his mind. “Merlin, there’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“If you’ll accept it, I can grant you mortality.” The flood returned.

“Yes!” Merlin cried before Freya could say anything else. “ _ Please _ . Yes.” She smiled and nodded. 

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Merlin dropped her hand then, but only so he could throw his arms around her in a great embrace. 

“Anything.”

“Thank you.” He felt as if he could cry. 

“I must go, Merlin. It’s difficult for me to stay here.” Even as she said it, Merlin could see the way the water pulled her, begged her to return to the depths. “But know you will always have me at your side, whether you can hear my voice or not.”

“Thank you.” It seemed to be the only thing he could say.

“Live, Merlin. Remember that. You must live now. Heaven knows it’s high time you were allowed to. It’s time the sword was laid to rest.” Freya slipped away then. And, just as a cool creek slips away from the smoothed rocks that block the water’s path, her movement was soft and effortless. As she left him she lifted her arm, a golden sword raising in a shimmering salute to the greatest sorcerer of all time. Merlin’s forearm burned when Freya raised Excalibur, not uncomfortably, but enough to catch his attention. He pulled up his sleeve to see his tattoo glittering, looking even more like the sword Freya held high, the sword upon which Merlin had based the design. Merlin smiled, smiled at his arm, then looked up to smile at Freya, but in a moment she was gone, her own breath of “thank you” hanging in the air. Merlin watched the spot where she’d sunk beneath the surface. He hadn’t asked about Lancelot. He hadn’t properly said goodbye. But he couldn’t bring himself to linger on it long, for in the back of his mind rang out Freya’s voice.  _ Live _ , she’d told him. And live he would.

―

Merlin stumbled through the front door in the darkness of midnight, jeans still uncomfortably damp around his legs, shirt unbuttoned but still somehow tucked halfway into his pants. His undershirt, which had not dried at his waist, clung irritatingly to his skin. He tugged at it, trying to untuck his shirts and perhaps begin to look presentable, but his hands were shaking and his breath would not slow. It was not cold. It was far from cold, actually. 

Merlin fell to his knees, harder than he meant to, and leaned forward, abandoning the mission of untucking his shirts. Sobs clattered through his body, his chest heaving and his shoulders curling inward. Guinevere heard him sooner than he’d expected her too, steps scurried down the hall just moments after Merlin had fallen. 

“Merlin?” The warlock continued to sob, but he sat up slightly so he could look at his friend. 

“I can die,” he whispered. Gwen cocked an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Mortal,” Merlin breathed. “I’m mortal.”

―

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought we needed a bit of Freya action up in this b


	10. Not This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go on a date. Fluff ensues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it Mercelot or Merlance?

Merlin took a slow breath where he stood at the door to the Riverside Cafe (where he’d agreed to meet Lancelot at 10:30 AM), preparing to open the tinted glass door. It was 10:31, he was one minute late. No worries, he could walk in, toss apologies about his lifelong skill of being tardy, and laugh off the awkwardness. Unless Lancelot truly was changed. Perhaps Lancelot was not so lenient in this life, perhaps he would be upset if Merlin walked in late. So upset he’d take his stuff and leave upon Merlin’s arrival. Or perhaps he’d waited and was already gone, cursing Merlin for wasting his time. The warlock’s heart pounded, and his hand, which had been reaching up to take a hold of the handle, dropped limply to his side. Maybe there was no point at all. Lancelot would not remember, he was already angry Merlin was late, why walk in only to face a rejection more painful than… well, anything?  _ I should just go _ . It was 10:33. He was three minutes late.  _ God _ . Merlin’s palms were sweating. He continued to stare at the handle, which was wooden with gold caps on each end, until it and the door it was connected to swung out of his view.  _ Odd _ . He looked up, slowly following the line of the door against the body of the person who had opened it.

“Are you going to come in?” Lancelot asked lightly, smirking at Merlin’s widening eyes.

“Erm, yes. I’m going to.”

“You’ve been standing out here a while. People are starting to whisper.”

“Sorry.” Lancelot caught Merlin’s eyes, and his smirk became a bright smile.

“Don’t be  _ sorry _ , come  _ in _ .” He stepped out of the doorway, motioning for Merlin to step inside. “I got us a table. Look, it’s by a window. Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Merlin assured him. And it was. There was a little round table in the back of the cafe, against one of the big windows that looked out onto the street. It was empty in the back of the cafe, and the view was nice from that angle. “Thank you.” Lancelot smiled, then pulled out the chair closest to the wall, offering Merlin the seat that would allow him a view of the whole cafe. Merlin took his seat with a smile and another whispered ‘thank you’ to Lancelot, and scanned the area as the other man took his seat. It was the perfect spot. He felt safe, he felt in control. He could easily spot danger here, keep Lancelot safe, keep himself aware. He wondered if it was some thoughtless coincidence that drew Lancelot to this table, that led him to offer Merlin the good seat, or if it was some deeper connection. Some deeper understanding.

“Are you alright, Merlin?” Lancelot questioned, reaching out and gently nudging the warlock’s hand. Merlin looked down where their fingers had touched on the table. 

“Yes,” he managed, not quite able to recover from Lancelot saying his name before their fingers brushed, which only took his breath away a second time. “I’m fine.”

“You look a bit like you’ve seen a ghost.” Merlin gave Lancelot a small smile, still looking at their hands, so close, but not quite touching. Merlin’s eyes fell upon the place just below Lancelot’s index finger. The skin was smooth and brown, and there was a freckle just to the side of his knuckle.

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered, still looking at the freckle.

Lancelot -at least, the Lancelot Merlin had known once- had had a scar on his left hand, just below the knuckle of his index finger. Merlin knew it well, he’d given it to him, after all. There had been a day during Lancelot’s first stay in Camelot when both he and Merlin found themselves working in the stables. They were messing around as they worked, and when it came time to muck the stalls, Lancelot swung his pitchfork at Merlin, laughing radiantly as the warlock leapt out of the way. Merlin jabbed back, and after a few more playful swings, managed to accidentally clip Lancelot’s hand, cutting into the skin between his thumb and index finger. He’d dropped the tool immediately, running to Lancelot’s side spewing apologies, but Lancelot only laughed and assured Merlin he was alright. 

Later, they sat side-by-side in the courtyard and Merlin was able to bandage the cut on Lancelot’s hand. When he swiped disinfectant over the wound, or pulled the bandage a bit too tight, he would wince and murmur another “sorry”. Eventually, Lancelot, with a beautiful smile and an easy laugh in his voice, had taken Merlin’s shoulder and said, “don’t ever be sorry, Merlin,” very gently, catching Merlin’s bright eyes with his warm brown ones. If Merlin had to pinpoint any one moment, he would say that it was there, sitting on the stone courtyard ground with Lancelot’s hand on his shoulder, that he first fell in love with the man.

Sitting across from each other in the Riverside Cafe, Lancelot, this new, different Lancelot, was watching Merlin intently. He nudged the warlock’s fingers again.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, for the second time that morning. Then, taking Merlin’s hand in his, said, “don’t ever be sorry, Merlin.” Their eyes met, and Merlin was in love once again.

―

After brunch, Merlin and Lancelot began to walk, no destination in mind. Neither had anywhere to be, and neither seemed to want to leave the other’s side, so they walked, and walked through the city, talking and laughing and casting shy glances toward one another. Eventually -perhaps by some subconscious urge, or perhaps just coincidentally- they ended up just down the street from Tapestry Tattoo Parlor, and it wasn’t until Merlin caught sight of Gwaine’s bike down the block that he realized where they were. He caught Lancelot’s arm before they could continue, and pulled him to the edge of the sidewalk, against the side of a brick building. They leaned against the wall, side by side, and when Lancelot raised a confused brow at Merlin, the warlock shot a bright smile back.

“Maybe we should turn back,” he suggested, as innocently as he could. Lancelot saw right through him.

“You’re avoiding your friend’s shop, aren’t you? Is he working today?” Merlin blushed, feeling the heat bloom from his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears.

“No,” he chuckled. “No, why would I be doing that?”

“Because you’re embarrassed,” Lancelot murmured, reaching up and brushing the back of his index finger against Merlin’s cheek to feel the heat. Merlin’s heart just about stopped at the gesture. 

“I’m not embarrassed. I just know Gwaine. He won’t leave me alone about it if he sees me with you, and I’m meant to have dinner with him in a couple nights. I need my days of peace so I can tell him on my own time.” The truth. Bent a bit to fit the situation. In reality, Gwaine already knew about Merlin’s little date. He and Gwen were the only ones Merlin had told, and they’d kept it to themselves up until that point, but if Gwaine saw the two of them together, Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his big gob shut any longer, and he wanted to keep things quiet at least until Friday, when everyone was meeting for dinner at the Citadel. By then, at least, he’d have had time to come up with a slightly more platonic reason to meet up with Lancelot.

“Fair enough,” he agreed, eager to put his trust in Merlin. He took the warlock’s arm and began to walk them down the street in the direction from which they’d come, turning down a path they’d yet to take when he reached the intersection, toward a park down the street. “It makes me think of the other day when we first met.” Merlin flushed again, partially from the proximity to Lancelot -their shoulders brushed now that Lancelot was holding Merlin’s arm- and partially from the memory of that day. Specifically his exit: a number on a slip of paper and a swift kiss on the cheek.

“An encounter I think I’ve yet to apologize for,” Merlin muttered. Lancelot laughed, pulling Merlin to a stop. They were in the park now, and Lancelot pulled Merlin off the path by the elbow, amusement still splashed across his face.

“And you never will, Merlin. I thought it was lovely.” Merlin crinkled his nose.

“Mm, did you?” he questioned dubiously. 

“I did,” Lancelot murmured, reaching to grab onto Merlin’s arm. They were facing each other now, close enough for Merlin’s heart to race, but far enough for him to ache for more. Lancelot undid the button on Merlin’s shirt cuff and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the golden sword. In the open air, Merlin could feel it pulsing with the Lake’s magic, and for a moment, as if just a trick of the eye, it appeared to glint in the late-morning sun. Lancelot smiled and ran his fingers down Merlin’s forearm, and when Merlin shivered this time, it was from the feel of Lancelot’s skin alone. “I felt drawn to you from the start, you know. There was just something about you.” 

“Lancelot,” Merlin whispered, and as he did, he realized suddenly that that was not how Lancelot had introduced himself. Over text, he’d introduced himself as “Lance”. He’d given “Lance” as his name for his order at the cafe. Merlin winced at the slip-up, but the other man smiled brilliantly when Merlin spoke.

“I never told you that was my name,” he said, voice just as quiet as Merlin’s.

“Sorry,” was Merlin’s stuttered response.

“Don’t be. It… Well, it  _ is _ my name,” he chuckled, taking a step closer, beginning to close the distance between them. “How did you know?” Their eyes met, and neither seemed able to look away.

“I just knew,” Merlin breathed, still caught in the warm brown of Lancelot’s irises.

Lancelot leaned in first, but Merlin was eager to follow suit. He reached out, holding Lancelot’s arms as if to brace himself, heart pounding through his whole body. His hands shook, and he gripped Lancelot’s arms a bit tighter. It seemed an eternity between when his eyes fluttered shut and the moment their lips met, but when they kissed, every second Merlin had spent waiting was worth it. When they kissed, Merlin felt whole. It was short and sweet, however, and when they broke apart, he felt as though a bit of himself was gone again. He longed for more. More of that  _ complete _ feeling, more of  _ Lancelot _ . Lancelot’s kiss was warm and sure, his hands held fast and firm, moving to rest on Merlin’s waist after a while. Merlin would let Lancelot hold him forever if he were allowed. He blinked, staring at Lancelot’s dark eyes as a realization crashed over him. He was allowed, in a way.

Smiling, he went in for another kiss.

―

_ Once Month Later _

―

Lance Du Lac turned the radio up two clicks and glanced down at his phone, which showed he was still on the correct route, estimated arrival time: 6:53. Good. Solid. Not too early, as he had a habit of being sometimes, but not too on the dot either. Admittedly, there had been several times throughout the weeks he’d been dating Merlin Ambrose that he’d let his excitement get the better of him. Merlin, who, like a watch just a couple minutes too late, only seemed able to arrive just in the nick of time. Lance picked up on this relatively quickly, and worked from that point on to reign in the jittery energy urging him to  _ go, go, go _ . The worst time had been that first morning at the cafe downtown, which he’d shown up to twenty minutes earlier than they’d planned, earlier than he’d even intended. He couldn’t help it, there was something about Merlin, about meeting up with Merlin, that screamed importance in his brain. Every time he received a message or a phone call, he had to fight the incessant urge to drop everything and  _ go _ to him. 

From that first day in the tattoo parlor, he’d been drawn to the other man, in a way he couldn’t rightly explain without sounding like an absolute freak. He’d since chalked it up to nothing more than good old-fashioned attraction, perhaps something akin to  _ love at first sight _ , though that was not something he’d be eager to share with Merlin either. Never before had anyone gotten Lance so entirely under their spell as Merlin had. Sure, he’d  _ loved, _ as well as he knew how, but there was something about the memory of Merlin’s lips on his cheek, pressing a paper with his number scrawled across it against Lance’s chest, that drilled into his mind that  _ this time was different _ . Merlin was different.

He turned the radio up two clicks more, and cracked his windows open, welcoming the thunder of air battering the car as he sped away from the city.

There was no need to be nervous really, and he told himself so over and over the closer he got to Merlin’s house. He’d met most of Merlin’s friends over the last month, gotten to know some of them quite well, in fact. He got on especially well with Arthur, Percival, and Gwen, similarly drawn to them, though not quite with the same intensity. Merlin’s people were good people, so why the anxiousness to attend a party with the lot of them there? Well, because they were more than Merlin’s friends. They were Merlin’s  _ family _ , and where it had been one thing to chat with Arthur and Gwen over lunch, or to bump into Percival out having dinner with his boyfriend, it was an entirely different thing to have all of them under the same roof. It felt like a test. Merlin had assured him it wasn’t, that it was a simple get-together, the type of thing he and his people often had, and that Lance had become close enough to him to be invited to said get-together. Even if Merlin didn’t intend it, it felt to Lance like a judge of his character, an evaluation, which he would have to pass for Merlin’s hand. To be frank, the whole thing felt a bit medieval.

His mind was still reeling when he pulled up to the address Merlin had sent him. Merlin was a busy man, he worked long shifts during the week at a hospital in the city, and could only see Lance briefly, if at all, on days he worked. On days he didn’t, it seemed he went out of his way to take Lance on dates he’d never been on before. The kind Lance enjoyed more than he realized he had the capability to, that always left him longing for  _ more time _ . They spent most of the last weekend together, rode horses at a farm to the West of the city, even drove an hour out to the middle of nowhere to visit a lake Merlin said he’d been coming to since he was a child. It was almost magical, and Lance had been honored to see it. In fact, he’d been meaning to ask if they could go again sometime. As he stopped his car, his thoughts skipped like stones on Avalon’s surface, and Lance calmed himself with the memory of that day. Of the lake, of Merlin. This would be a good night.

He repeated the affirmation out loud as he let himself out of his car, facing the great house and taking it in.

It was tall -three stories- and mostly brick, and even in the bright light of the summer evening, it looked as though it were glowing with life, light streaming from every window, voices and music and laughter spilling from the open windows. Lance had never seen Merlin’s house, but now that he was looking at it, he couldn’t imagine Merlin living anywhere else. It was a lovely piece of architecture, placed at the end of a tree-bordered road and surrounded by grassy fields and streams. There was a dark line of trees on the horizon, and Lancelot thought the gold of the grass and the darkness of the trees caught the mood of the house quite nicely.

It was an ivy-accented brick fortress, torn between the aesthetic of cheery-brick-cottage-on-a-hill and dark-witchy-hideaway-in-the-woods. In all it’s contradictions however, it was a bit beautiful, in a way, and Lance could imagine Merlin being drawn to the place. To the building itself, and to the land. The energy that spilled from the windows seemed to cast golden light on the grass and the trees and the front steps and the cars out front, as if the house alone could not quite handle the brilliance of Merlin Ambrose and his people. Lance couldn’t blame the building, Merlin was a star, and stars weren’t particularly easy to contain. Lance smiled and shoved his keys into his pocket, eager to see inside. 

He climbed the steps up to the porch, but before he could reach the door, it swung open, revealing two of Merlin’s friends, whom he knew to be Gwaine (Percival’s boyfriend) and Elyan (Gwen’s brother), in the doorway. They were grinning brilliantly, as if they’d just done something very naughty that they knew they were going to get away with. 

“Welcome, mate, c’mon in,” said Gwaine, ignoring the look of surprise on Lance’s face. He and Elyan took turns clapping Lance on the back before floating away to another part of the house, and the next person to greet him was curly-haired Leon, who stepped out of the kitchen into Lance’s path with an easy laugh and a plate of sliced apples in his hand, a woman’s voice shouting orders after him. His eyebrows raised in brief alarm when he noticed the body in front of him, before he realized who it was and smiled warmly.

“Welcome,” he said, echoing Gwaine, and he reached out to give Lance’s hand a firm shake. They’d met only once, but Lance quite liked the man. “Merlin’s just in there.”

“Thanks,” Lance said with a smile, allowing Leon to sidestep around him to slip into the living room. Lance himself turned into the kitchen, where Merlin, Gwen, and Morgana were working, and Arthur leaned against a counter, peering over his wife’s shoulder. He was murmuring something to her and Morgana, which made her laugh, tilting her chin back and positively beaming at him as she did. Morgana, a dark haired woman Lance had met only once, flashed a grin at her friends from her place by the sink, which set off Arthur chuckling as well. They glowed, the three of them. They glowed like the house did, filled with love and years of knowing and understanding between them. Lance felt a bit out of place. That was, until he turned from them and caught Merlin’s eyes where he was chopping vegetables on the island in the center of the room. 

Lance realized then that his first impression of the place had been wrong. It was not the charm of the building that had drawn Merlin, but Merlin who had given the building that charm to begin with. Merlin was the glow at the center of it all, he had shaped the place, bent it to his will, and the land was clearly eager to comply. Lance knew he sure as hell was.

“Lancelot,” said Merlin, and the name felt like magic on Lance’s skin. Only Merlin called him Lancelot, but he would have it no other way.

“Merlin,” he whispered back, drawn to his light.

_ This will be a good night _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so we're gonna pretend for a while like this is the end and it's finished but that's actually a big fat lie because I'm absolutely going to write more.


	11. Holidays and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... wrote more...

Merlin yawned and stretched after shutting down his computer for what would be the last time for several weeks, and looked slowly around his small office. Merlin had worked with medicine from the day he set foot in Camelot, and had not looked back since then. Had it been his dream at the time? Far from it! But as years passed, it became harder and harder to imagine a time when the herbs and the checkups and the healing spells had not been a part of his life. Over the years, he watched the practice evolve, he watched the knowledge grow and grow until he thought humanity could discover nothing more, and then he would be shocked by yet another invention. It was thrilling! And it was the mission ingrained into the very core of his being to help other people. Arthur may always have been his destiny, but his career as a physician, his passion for healing, that was a future he would write on his own.

But somehow,  _ somehow _ in fifteen-hundred years, Merlin had not taken much of a vacation. He had travelled, of course he had travelled, but only to take his practice on the road (and to test the Lake’s hold on him, of course). Life had never allowed for time to spare. There were always battles to fight and wounds to heal and destinies to fulfil, and somehow, Merlin found he was often tied up in each of these messes, however hard he tried to avoid them. So he worked and he fought and he helped and he healed and he fulfilled his destiny time and time again, not thinking there would ever be change ahead. He’d accepted that to be the way of things.

But life was different now. Impossible as it seemed, things  _ had _ changed. Brilliant doctors were scattered across the globe, medicine and technology were at their peaks and ever-advancing, and on top of it all, Merlin himself had changed. He was happy, he had a boyfriend and a family. He was  _ mortal _ , for God’s sake, and what a wonderfully mortal thing to be surrounded by so much love. He smiled to himself as he hung his coat and stethoscope on the inside of his door before collecting the rest of his things. He was mortal and he had one last life left to live, so he was going to live it to its fullest extent. He was going on holiday, and in two weeks’ time, he was going to come right back to his office and continue helping people. He was going to grow old with his friends at his side, and he was going to die happy and fulfilled and satisfied.  _ What a dream _ , the warlock thought as he walked the linoleum halls of the hospital.  _ What a dream I’m living. _

―

He was still in a good mood when he arrived at the Citadel, and the others noticed as soon as he arrived. It was noisy inside their little fortress, voices and music and the clatter of dishes and food preparation spilling from the windows. Gwaine and Elyan were sitting on the front steps when he parked, and they stood, nearly in unison, and called out his name cheerfully when he stepped out of his car. Merlin could not help but feel a rush of happiness at the sight of the two of them together, plotting some trick against Leon or Percival no doubt, and he jogged toward them with a smile. Gwaine whistled when he reached them, pulled Merlin into a hug, then held him back by the shoulders to squint at him.

“Look at you,” he said. “Merlin, you’re glowing. Are you pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“But you could be, smiling and swinging your arms like that.” Elyan and Merlin met eyes as Gwaine mimed Merlin’s cheerful gait, and they both burst out laughing as he finished.

“That’s not how I walk,” Merlin patted Gwaine’s shoulder with a smile. “And I hate to disappoint, but neither I nor the  _ man _ I’m dating is  _ with child _ .” Gwaine rolled his eyes at the mage.

“I’m not an idiot, Merlin. I just meant… Well, you look  _ happy _ . Really happy. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“Do I depress you, Gwaine?”

“Yes, yes you do. I can hardly look at you some days, it’s like you have this contagious aura of sadness hanging around you.” Again he acted out what he meant, slumping and stomping around in a circle with an exaggerated frown on his face. But this only made Merlin laugh some more, and Gwaine and Elyan glanced at each other with mirrored smiles.

“Right, well, I’ll try not to-” Merlin stomped and frowned as Gwaine had, “-anymore. And I’ll be sure to pass your congratulations for the pregnancy onto the  _ other father _ .” Gwaine huffed, trying to further explain himself as Merlin made his way inside, a laugh in his chest and a smile on his lips.

When he stepped into the Citadel, he was hit by the sweet smell of bread baking, and the clamor of bodies within the house. It was beginning to get chilly outside, and though it was only a touch warmer inside the Citadel, with the oven on, it would soon heat up. But Merlin didn’t mind the chill that followed him in, he unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt, and walked into the kitchen with it slung over his left arm, clumsily untucking his white undershirt without tangling himself in the strap of his bag. Gwen and Gaius were sipping wine and laughing about something Merlin hadn’t overheard. Gwen leaned against the island, her back to the door, facing Gaius, so she didn’t notice him until he stepped up behind her and bumped his forehead against her shoulder. 

“Hello, darling! How was work?” she asked him, setting down her glass and reaching up to ruffle Merlin’s hair.

“It was good,” he replied softly. He pulled away, shifting his bag behind him with his elbow so as not to bump her with it, and reached out to give Gaius a one-armed hug.

“Hello, my boy.” It had been almost a week since Gaius and Mordred had come out to visit the others at the Citadel, and Merlin was glad to see the man. 

“Gaius, how are you?”

“Good. Glad to be here. Mordred’s had classes all this week, and he’s been itching to come visit.” Merlin laughed, leaning to peer through the door of the kitchen to see if he could see the druid. He couldn’t, but at that moment, Mordred’s voice rang out loud and clear in the living room, singing along to the piano. Merlin gave Gaius’s shoulder a squeeze, shot Gwen a smile, and made his way out of the kitchen to find the others clustered around the couch and piano. Leon was at the bench, picking out chords to a song that Merlin didn’t know, but Mordred was clearly quite thrilled about singing. Morgana and Arthur sat side-by-side on the couch, Morgana leaning over the arm as she listened and laughed with Leon and Mordred, while Arthur spoke to Percival, who sat in the leather chair across the coffee table from the couch. They looked up when Merlin dropped his bag in the doorway, and the warlock was warmed by the smiles that were sent his way.

“Merlin, at last!” said Arthur, shifting and leaning his elbows on the back of the couch to face his friend. One look at Merlin’s face and Arthur lit up, brows raising suggestively. “Well, look at  _ you _ .”

“Look at me?”

“You look happy, Merlin. Are you excited to have a break, then?”

“You know him, Arthur,” Leon chimed in. “He’ll be back in the hospital as soon as his two weeks have passed.”

“I’d argue,” said Merlin, walking up to the back of the couch. “But I think we  _ all _ know how right you are.” Leon grinned, and went back to plunking out the song with Mordred. Arthur let out a great sigh and sank back into the cushions, but Leon was right, and there was no point in arguing.

“Will Lance be coming?” Percival questioned hopefully. Most of them, Percival included, had gotten the hang of calling him  _ Lance _ , though every now and then Arthur or Gwen or somebody would slip up and add on the extra syllables. Merlin was the only one who hadn’t ever made the switch. He’d tried, for a while, trying to convince himself to let go of the past, but when he noticed the way Lancelot smiled when he said his full name, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

Much more difficult was the slow acceptance that Lancelot’s memories did not appear to be returning any time soon. They all wanted him to remember, to be able to talk to him about Camelot, spar in the fields out behind the house, reminisce. But, it had been several months, and when Percival questioned him, Merlin found that, for the first time since this whole adventure had begun, he was okay with things as they were. The realization made him pause, but he shook himself and gave Percival a nod before retreating back into his thoughts. He could hope, but there comes a time when acceptance becomes easier than the desperate longing for things to return to the way they were. He had his Lancelot, what more could he ask for?

―

No one loved quite the way Merlin did. And if any one could say so, it was Gwen. Guinevere thrived on the wellbeing of her friends’, wanted nothing more than to see all of them prosper, and loved freely and intensely each and every one of her husband’s most loyal. Over time, she found herself recognizing some of her own feelings in Merlin. Things like the fondness, the desire to see his friends’ happiness (which rose far above any desire for his own). She recognized her own feelings and actions, and subtle ones of Merlin’s own, bits and pieces of a love language which she built up a catalogue of over the many years and lives she’d lived beside him. Fifteen centuries was long enough to realize that  _ no one loved quite the way Merlin did _ .

Gwen could see it in his face, each time he scolded Gwaine for making a distasteful joke, or shot some snide remark back at Arthur as the two of them bickered. In his voice, when he taught Mordred a new spell he’d come up with since the last cycle the druid had returned in, or when he comforted Morgana after particularly difficult nights of nightmares and flashbacks. The way he hugged Gaius each time he saw him, the way he bumped his head to Gwen’s shoulder or held on to Morgana’s hand. The way he smiled when Leon pressed a kiss to Morgana’s cheek, or when Gwaine leaned comfortably into Percival’s side. He loved his friends so deeply, so  _ transparently _ , that there were times when Gwen could not help but sit back and just watch Merlin as he observed his friends’ happiness, memorizing the smile that stretched slowly across his face, and the glow of pride and joy that filled his eyes. 

She saw it clearer than ever when he and Mordred and Morgana felt the shift in the magical border that surrounded the property, and when he returned to the living room with  _ his Lancelot  _ on his arm. There was nothing comparable to the fierce devotion in Merlin’s eyes.

For a moment, Gwen blinked in surprise. There Merlin was, parading Lancelot through the house to let the others know he’d arrived, and there was not a trace of melancholy in his eyes. Months had passed since Lancelot’s return, and though he was slowly being brought into their little family, it was obvious that each of them were silently hoping for his memories to return, Merlin most of all. But they’d told him the stories, Merlin had brought him to the lake, they’d spoken and traveled and begged to the spirits when Lance’s back was turned, but the knight’s subconscious stubbornly held onto his current cycle, his new memories, this life, unfamiliar to the rest of them. 

Perhaps it was the manner of his first death, his passing directly through the veil. Perhaps it was the raising of his soul (which Morgana had apologized profusely to Merlin about, though he’d just held onto her hands and insisted it was alright), perhaps it was because he’d never returned since, and he’d never had a chance to remember and make new memories in new lives. Whatever the reason, the topic of Lancelot’s return and by extension the memories he hadn’t regained had held an air of bittersweetness over the last months. They were all thankful, of course. But it was only human to long for more. 

Even Merlin couldn’t resist hoping, and up until that moment in the kitchen, Gwen could always see the sadness, the yearning. When she looked over at him in the doorway, smiling as Gaius gave Lance a hug, there was nothing but lightness in his eyes. Nothing but love and joy and blissful  _ acceptance _ . It was breathtaking.

Gwen wiped her hands and moved around the island and around Gaius to greet the newcomer. She hugged Lancelot, who laughed warmly and returned the gesture, then turned to Merlin, who seemed to realize she’d noticed the shift in his mood, and took his face in her hands, pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead before releasing him with a bright smile.

“Well,  _ you’re _ happy to see us. I only stepped out for thirty seconds you know,” he said amusedly.

“Of course I am. And I felt as though my earlier greeting to you was not as exciting as it should have been, and you just got straight to kitchen work. I mean, you’re on  _ holiday _ ! You’ve finally got a break! And Lance is here!”

“Are you alright, Gwen?” questioned Merlin. “You’re very excited.” Gwen elbowed him and he grinned teasingly.

“You look  _ happy _ . I can’t help it if that makes me happy.” Merlin ducked his head sheepishly at her words. He glanced at Lancelot, who was beginning to blush, then back at Gwen, who seemed unable to wipe the giddy smile from her face. Merlin leaned down, pressing his forehead to the crook of Gwen’s shoulder in something between a hug and a headbutt. 

“That’s sweet,” he muttered.

“Gross, I know,” Gwen replied, resting a hand momentarily on the side of his head and pressing her cheek to his, somewhat returning the action. “Come on, then,” she said when he pulled away. “Let’s tell everyone the good news.”

“And what good news is that?” They turned, walking the few steps into the living room, and the others began to look up as soon as they entered. The room was crowded, everyone except for Gaius, who remained in the kitchen, piling from the couch and chair, and onto the floor.

“That Lance is here!” Gwen announced as a reply, earning greetings and cheers of excitement from the others. As Lance made his rounds, slapping shoulders and giving hugs and sharing laughs, Merlin looked on in pleased silence, and from behind a couple of feet away, Gwen watched him observe. After saying his hellos, Arthur wandered over to Gwen, slipping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss first to her cheekbone and then to the curve of her neck. She batted at him but he held on, moving behind her so he could rest his chin on her shoulder and keep his arms around her waist.

“He’s so happy,” he murmured, and there was no question of who he was referring to.

“He’s in  _ love _ ,” Gwen replied.

“How ridiculous,” said Arthur, kissing Gwen’s shoulder.

“Something’s different tonight, don’t you think?”

“Mm,” Arthur agreed. Gwen rolled her eyes, motioning vaguely in Merlin’s direction.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw him this happy.”

“ _ I _ can. After I knighted them all, do you remember? In our first life? There was a period of peace, but it was one of those first few nights, when we were still putting everything back together. We were all out one night and things were… Well, things were  _ good _ , remember? I think that was the happiest I ever saw him. I think he loved Lancelot even then.”

“I think he loved him long before that.” They stood in silence for a while, just watching, until Arthur shifted and turned Gwen around so she faced him.

“Guinevere,” he began.

“Arthur.”

“Do you think he’ll ever remember?” He stared off over her shoulder, but she knew without needing to look that his eyes rested on Lancelot.

“I don’t know. But… I don’t think it matters to Merlin.” Arthur stared off for a moment more, then broke into a soft smile.

“I think you’re right.” Gwen huffed.

“I’m always right.”

When the commotion died down and Lancelot had settled on the floor between Merlin and the edge of Percival’s chair, chatting with the taller man as Gwaine dealt him into their next game, Gwen pulled away from her husband, pecking his cheek and murmuring something about returning to the kitchen to help Gaius with the food. Arthur nodded, but as he began to maneuver around the bodies in the living room to reclaim his spot on the couch, Merlin stood and began to weave his way to the door. Gwen paused when Arthur spoke.

“ _ Mer _ lin.” Arthur held his hand up to Merlin’s chest, stopping the warlock in his tracks. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to help with dinner,” Merlin said slowly, his words upturned at the end in a questioning tone. “I was chopping onions when Lancelot got here-” Gwen saw Arthur’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighed.

“ _ Christ _ . For once, Merlin, would you take a break?” Merlin snorted.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that to my face.” Arthur nudged Merlin’s shoulder and began to push him back towards his place beside Lance.

“There’s a first time for everything. Sit down, please.  _ I’ll _ help make dinner.”

“ _ No, _ Gwen, if Arthur helps make dinner, I’m not eating it!” Merlin turned to peek out over the blond’s shoulder, earning him a cuff on the back of the head. “Ow!”

“Don’t worry, I’m in here too,” Gaius called from the kitchen, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. “Arthur can chop your vegetables.” The king’s sharp noise of indignation earned chuckles around the room.

“Ach, fine,” said Merlin. “I’ll sit and do nothing for a while.”

“Thank  _ God _ ,” Arthur huffed. Merlin ran his fingers over the top of the couch and skillfully navigated the maze of legs and drinks to return to Lancelot’s side. The others looked up as he passed, bright smiles capturing him from every direction, and glances being quickly exchanged between Arthur and his men. 

Gwen paused to look out at the scene in front of her before turning to return to the kitchen. 

At the card table, Gwaine and Elyan were neck-and-neck, Percival holding his cards against his broad chest and leaning over the game with a scowl, trying to track who was winning (with those two, it was impossible to tell). Lance was putting up as much of a fight as he could, but spent more time sharing smirks and eye-rolls with Percival than he did following the game. Leon sat on the piano bench with his legs outstretched, laughing at something Mordred had said. The druid was leaning forward in his chair, speaking animatedly with Morgana, who leaned in her favorite spot over the arm of the old couch. Merlin settled down at Lance’s side without a word, and, without faltering in his conversation or interrupting the game, Lance raised an arm and brought it around Merlin’s back, pulling the warlock against his side and tilting his hand for Merlin to see. The action was so natural and…  _ domestic _ . The side-hug, the leaning, the angled cards. Gwen’s heart ached with happiness to see the two of them together.

Arthur caught her grinning, and, after glancing back toward the others one more time, slid an arm around her waist, kissed her hairline sweetly, and stepped into the kitchen, chuckling softly at the whole ordeal. 

When Gwen looked up at him, however, she could see the soft smile growing on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin fam just chillin gets me so emotional


	12. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit the last chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is relatively unedited and I swear I'll go back and fix things but I was so excited that I finished this I just had to post it. Two chapters in two days?? Insane!

Dinner was wonderful. Gaius and Gwen -with the occasional hand from Arthur and Morgana- put together a pasta dish that Merlin could imagine finding at a five-star Italian restaurant as well as one of the cheap comfort food-serving eateries downtown. Nice, but homey, exactly as Gwen planned, most likely. It was perfect.

Merlin had taken advantage of every moment of his Arthur-mandated do-nothing time, sitting close against Lancelot’s side and watching him play several rounds with Gwaine and Elyan and Percival, as they listened to Leon and Mordred taking turns on the piano. It was natural now, when there weren’t songs or stories or conversations, for one of the guys to pull out the deck that sat in the little box beneath the card table and deal Lancelot in, but the sight made Merlin’s heart clench no matter how many times he’d seen them play in the last few months, it was just so good to see them all together. 

The best part was learning how Lancelot played. He’d never had the chance before -on account of Lancelot  _ dying _ before the invention of playing cards- and Merlin had to admit Lancelot’s tactics were his favorite by far. He was competitive, like Gwaine, but was far too easy to read, grinning when things began to turn in his favor, and scowling when he drew a bad card. Merlin found it positively adorable. And he could easily forgive the poor poker face, as whenever Merlin sat out games and just observed, Lancelot would pull him close and angle his hands in Merlin’s direction, murmuring in Merlin’s ear for tips that he was happy to supply. There was nothing comparable to sitting with his Lancelot and whispering about cards. Nothing.

After dinner, things began to still. Everyone lingered in their spots around the living room (they were too many now for the little round dining table), not quite wanting to end the moment. Merlin moved first, him and Gwen beginning to collect plates and silverware to return them to the kitchen. Lancelot had kissed Merlin’s hand when he’d taken his plate; it made Merlin’s heart positively giddy. When they returned to the living room after loading the dishwasher (Merlin loaded the dishwasher, Gwen teased him for “cuddling with Lance” all evening), Gwaine and Mordred had started up yet another card game, both buzzing for the competition, and Percival asked to be dealt in, requesting a rematch. As Gwaine shuffled, Mordred cleared the coffee table of phones and napkins, and side by side, Merlin could understand how they’d come back as cousins. Dark hair fell over their foreheads and their eyes glinted through childlike grins, similarly dashing, similarly mischievous. 

As the game began, Merlin grabbed the guitar from the stand beside the piano and sat against the arm of the couch, right above where Lancelot was laughing at Percival, whose face had fallen with just one glance at his hand. The spot Lancelot occupied was usually Morgana’s -it was the perfect perch to listen to her husband play and join the conversations of the others in the room- but when Leon had given Gaius the bench and moved to sit on the floor during dinner, Morgana had followed, and they remained side-by-side on the edge of carpet to the right of the piano. Merlin strummed through a few chords, then nodded his head at Leon.

“Let’s sing them a song, piano man.” Leon looked about as happy as if he’d won the lottery. Gauis, realizing he was being kicked out of his bench spot, gave Merlin’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before making his way to the couch, mumbling for Gwaine to scoot over so he could sit. Things shifted, Elyan moved to the floor and Gwaine moved to the spot beside Lance, and as they shuffled Merlin began to play with a light, galloping strum. Gwen recognized the song after a few bars and began to sing along, laughing beautifully when Merlin paused. “You know it, Leon?” The other man rolled up his sleeves and sat at the bench, giving Merlin a bit of a nod.

“I’ve heard it on the radio, I think. Show me the chords?”

“That was the song playing when we hit you, Gwaine,” Gwen said from the loveseat parallel to the piano, where Arthur had his arm draped comfortably over her shoulders, as Merlin moved his fingers through the pattern. The knight’s eyes widened and he slapped his cards down on the table. 

“On my bike?” Gwen and Merlin nodded, and soon, Gwaine was retelling the story (far more dramatically than it had actually happened), while Leon tapped out chords and hummed a melody to himself. Lancelot found the tale absolutely thrilling, and they were all laughing by the end, not quite believing all Gwaine had said, which was perfectly valid in Merlin’s opinion.

“Alright, enough of that,” Merlin said finally, though there was humor in his eyes. “I think Leon’s got it down.” He launched into the song without much other introduction, and as Leon and Gwen sang the verse, Gwaine and the others returned to their game, smiling and singing along with the bits they knew. At the pickup into the chorus, Merlin began to hum, prompting smiles around the room which he stubbornly ignored. When the chorus kicked off, he sang along with his friends, and when the moment of surprise passed, the music carried on with an energy it hadn’t had in quite some time. 

―

Merlin was singing. Laughing and strumming and swaying and  _ singing _ . Lance felt for a moment that his breath had left him, and he turned from the game to simply stare at Merlin, who shot him a brilliant smile before counting Leon off into another fast-paced pop song, one Lance couldn’t quite place the name of. 

He’d never heard Merlin sing before. Even in the car with the radio on, or on nights at the Citadel when Leon played songs everyone knew. He just figured Merlin wasn’t a very musical person. He’d never questioned the well-loved guitar that seemed to live in the corner of the living room, he’d seen Gwaine picking through songs on it, Elyan too, if given the chance, so he’d never even thought to consider the fact that  _ Merlin _ played as well. Or that Merlin played as  _ brilliantly _ as he was playing at the moment. His hands glided over the fretboard so effortlessly, Lance had to squint and wonder if Merlin was actually playing, or if his fingers were just floating over the instrument. He bowed and swayed to the rhythm of the song, propping the body of the guitar under his arm at times to move away from the couch and stand by Leon. It was so…  _ natural _ that Lance found himself wondering if Merlin hadn’t had the instrument in his hands all evening. Or  _ every _ evening they’d spent together at the Citadel. Or hell, if he hadn’t  _ met _ Merlin with a guitar in his hands.

Eventually, the others seemed to tire of the radio songs, and it was if a switch had flicked in every one of them when Merlin launched into an upbeat folk song that had everyone cheering before beginning to sing and clap along. Gwaine laid down his cards and stood, scooting past Gaius and sweeping out of the room, returning with a stringed instrument that looked something like a mandolin, which he played from the corner, not bothering to tune it. He and Merlin faced each other on either side of the couch as they played, and by the end of the song they were barely singing, too busy laughing at each other across the room.

“Can you take this?” Lance nodded silently and held the neck of the guitar as Merlin rolled up the sleeves of his button down, revealing the sword that stretched down his forearm. In the warm light of the living room, the dark yellow-gold shading of the tattoo seemed to glitter and glow.

God,  _ Merlin _ glowed.

Elyan stood next, moving past Gwaine and out of the room to get more instruments. A tambourine, which had shown its face on past nights, and a violin. A  _ violin _ . Lance wasn’t even sure if any of them  _ played _ a violin. It was as if every hummed song on the piano or fingerpicked guitar tune over the last few months had been a great lead up to tonight. It was as if something had shifted. Was it Merlin? When Merlin sang, had something changed? It sure as hell felt like it. Lance watched as the room rearranged once again. Gwaine sat in Elyan’s spot on the floor and tuned his mandolin…  _ thing _ before handing it over to Morgana. Elyan gave the tambourine to his sister, and moved around the back of the couch to give the violin and bow to Merlin, who took the guitar back from Lance and traded instruments with Elyan.  _ Merlin _ .

“Jesus, what kind of secrets have you been keeping from me?” Lance questioned when Merlin began to tune the thing by ear beside him.

“Mm?” Merlin mumbled innocently. Lance poked his shoulder.

“You play guitar? You play  _ violin _ ?” Merlin shrugged. “You  _ sing _ ?”

“Not well.” A lie, in Lance’s opinion.

“Well enough!” Elyan snorted at Lance’s outburst and took Gwaine’s spot on the couch. He offered the guitar to the man beside him.

“Do you feel left out? Here, play.”

“I don’t play! I would have liked to have known  _ Merlin _ played!” Laughs filled the room, and Elyan shrugged easily and passed the guitar to an eager Gwaine.

“Have any requests then?” Lance blinked and looked over at Merlin, who somehow looked even more attractive with a violin to his chin than he did holding the guitar. He let out a strangled squeak, which made Merlin laugh and lean down to kiss the top of his head.

“That’s alright, my love. I’ll choose.”  _ My love _ . The next song was a blur of Gaelic and whooping encouragement around the room. Percival and Mordred stood at some point, dancing with each other in the small bit of open space behind the piano.  _ My love _ . The next was instrumental, but of the same vein, and Leon left the piano bench to convince Arthur to stand and dance, earning laughs around the room, and a shrill whistle from Gwaine.  _ My love _ . When Gwen stood, shaking the tambourine above her head, and even Gaius stood clapping to Gwen’s steady beat, Lance gave in, standing and facing Merlin, whose hair was beginning to fall in his face as he played. He smiled, leaning to avoid the bow as he moved to stand behind Merlin, bouncing lightly to the beat on the song as he went. He pressed a kiss to Merlin’s right shoulder and reached up to brush the dark hair away from his eyes, smiling when a blush spread from Merlin’s neck to his cheeks. The clear notes of the violin faltered, but only for a moment.

The songs slowed after a while. Old Celtic ballads, slow American love songs that Gwaine enjoyed more than any of them, and made Percival blush and look away from his boyfriend. Lance tried to listen to them all, but his mind was a whirlwind of “Merlin plays guitar” and “Merlin plays violin” and “Merlin speaks Gaelic” and “Merlin can sing” and “Merlin called me his love”. Merlin had called him  _ his love _ . Jesus, why wouldn’t his heart  _ slow down _ ? After a particularly sappy suggestion from Gwaine, Merlin reached down and grabbed the violin from the table -he’d set it down a couple songs ago- and played a few long notes before clicking his tongue.

“One sec,” he said, to no one in particular. When he returned, the conversation, which had swelled, quieted again at the sight of the instrument he held. He’d traded the violin for a small harp, which he once again tuned by ear when he reached his spot beside the couch. “Scoot,” he said, wanting to sit. When Lance only blinked at him he said, “Lancelot _._ _Scoot_ ,” which was more effective than his first request. Gaius moved and Elyan moved and Lance moved until they were all shoulder-to-shoulder and Merlin had space to sit down and rest his strange little harp-thing against his thigh.

“Is that a harp?” asked Lance. Merlin paused his plucking and smiled.

“It’s a lyre. Would you prefer a harp? I have one.” Someone coughed, poorly masking a laugh.

“It’s a… It’s a  _ lyre _ ,” Lance repeated. There was another one.  _ Merlin plays the lyre. _ “Like ancient Greek… Like- like  _ Orpheus _ ?” Merlin laughed softly.

“Yeah. Like Orpheus. You wanna hear a song.” Lance swallowed and nodded slowly. The room was quiet. Not uncomfortably so, but quiet enough that it was clear the others were waiting for Merlin to play. “Leon,” he said, looking over his shoulder where Leon sat on the bench, running his fingers through Morgana’s hair where she leaned against his legs. “Will you sing for me? You know the one. From when we were in-”

“Nemeth. I remember,” Leon nodded, rattling off a name in a language that wasn’t quite recognizable, and it took Lance a moment to realize he didn’t understand what Leon had said. It sounded a bit like gibberish, perhaps the gibberish he’d hear if he didn’t speak English, though the tonalities were a bit different. He wondered briefly if he was losing his mind, or if Leon was having a stroke, until the man on the bench spoke again, this time in plain English. “I don’t even know if I remember the words.”

“They’ll come to you,” Merlin assured him. He plucked his lyre and eased back into the cushions, nodding for Leon to begin when he was ready. It was a beautiful song, gentleness and hope laced with a deep melancholy. The atmosphere changed even before Leon sung the first line. Gwaine stopped mumbling to Percival and tilted his head, listening. Mordred laid his arm on the card table and rested his head upon it, stretching his legs out toward Morgana. Elyan leaned his head back, eyes closed, chin tilted toward the ceiling. Gaius watched Merlin’s hands as they plucked the complicated pattern. Arthur seemed the most moved of them all, pulling Gwen close and resting his cheek on the top of her head. By the end, a tear was sliding down his cheek, and after a moment of echoing silence after the last note, he whispered,

“I love that song.” The stillness stretched on, and eventually Lance had to speak up.

“What’s it about?” he asked Merlin, quiet enough not to shatter the moment.

“It’s a battle hymn,” Merlin explained. “For fallen warriors. Their loved ones wishing them a peaceful passing.” 

“What language is it?”

“Brittonic. Old English. Whatever you want to call it.” Lance hummed and raised an eyebrow at Merlin, but didn’t question it. Stranger things had happened tonight than Leon being able to speak a dead language. A  _ long _ dead language. Quiet filled the room again, a thoughtful, reminiscent quiet.

“Merlin?” came Gaius’s voice after a while.

“Mm?”

“Will you do another one, my boy?”

―

Later that night, after the instruments had been put away and those who didn’t live at the Citadel bid their farewells, Merlin laid in bed with his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders, and was listening intently to the sound of his breath. There’d been something different about that evening. They’d been together for months, but he’d never felt Lancelot’s eyes on him the way he had as he’d played and sang in the living room. The pure  _ awe _ in Lancelot’s eyes made him blush just at the recollection. He hadn’t meant to shock Lancelot, it just… it felt so  _ right _ . It had been so long since they’d all been together like that, so long since they’d been able to sing and dance and  _ feel _ , rather than listen to Leon sing as he played the piano. Not that Leon wasn’t beautiful to listen to, but there was something about all of them singing and clapping and laughing around the living room, loving the  _ togetherness _ . Loving each other.  _ Loving _ . 

_ My love _ .

To avoid thinking of the awkward slip up from earlier that night, he reached out and pulled the comforter further up, trying to cover his arms, but when the awkward tugging failed, Lancelot reached out and adjusted the cover for him, then shifted closer, letting out a soft sigh.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered.  _ My love _ . Minutes passed, and Merlin thought for sure that Lancelot had fallen asleep, but then the chest that was pressed to his buzzed softly as Lancelot spoke.

“Merlin,” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Will you sing that song for me again? The love one?” The very last song Merlin played was another Brittonic piece, one that had always made him think of Lancelot. It was about lost love, longing, beautifully sad but just hopeful enough not to be considered tragic. Only months before, Merlin had sat on the sill of the window just across the room and listened as Gwen sang it to him, heart aching with missing, desperately clinging to the hopeful lines. Now, with Lancelot beside him, the words of the song felt light in the back of his mind, a gentle reminder that things were good. He had Lancelot.  _ He had Lancelot _ .

“I don’t sing it as good as Leon does.” Lancelot huffed and shifted. Merlin couldn’t tell if he was shrugging or simply adjusting his arms.

“Will you sing it anyway?”

“Fine,” Merlin whispered. He sang slowly, catching the tune as well as he could without the lyre to keep his pitch in line. He didn’t add embellishments to the melody the way Leon could, but judging by the way Lancelot whispered “thank you” and reached out to hold on to Merlin’s arm, he guessed he was doing a decent enough job. On the last time through the chorus, Lancelot hummed along, tapping the beat against the inside of Merlin’s forearm as he sang, against Excalibur’s hilt. That was when Merlin discovered there was, in fact, something comparable to sitting with Lancelot and whispering about cards. They sang softly, chests rising and falling in perfect unison, and Merlin could have sworn even their heartbeats aligned for a moment. Lancelot sighed happily, leaving the two of them in the quiet that lingers after a song for a brief moment before he began to sing again, repeating one of the earlier verses, Merlin’s favorite, which sang about the joy of reunion. Of two people in love. Merlin was a little in love with Lancelot’s voice. After a moment, Lancelot, still holding Merlin’s arm, sat up on one elbow and faced Merlin.

“You sang that to me once, do you remember? One of those nights after we took the city back from Morgause. I was injured,” he let out a soft laugh, glancing down at Merlin’s arm in the darkness as he ran his fingers up and down Excalibur’s blade. Warmth seeped through Merlin’s forearm, though he couldn’t tell if it was from Lancelot’s touch or from the tattoo itself. “You must have thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I heard every line.” He repeated the verse again, without the melody, and it was only then that Merlin realized he’d spoken it in flawless Brittonic. His breath caught, and their heartbeats broke out of sync, but only because Merlin’s began to race.

“I remember,” Merlin breathed, so softly he thought Lancelot may not have heard. Then, “ _ you _ remember.” Merlin could see Lancelot’s smile even in the darkness.

“Will you sing it again, Merlin?” Merlin would have done so immediately, but his lungs refused to fill, and his heart would not stop pounding. Lancelot.  _ His _ Lancelot. “Merlin?” Lancelot released Merlin’s arm only to push a lock of his hair from his forehead, then leaned down to press a kiss to the spot his fingers had just brushed. Merlin drew a trembling breath, and a smile grew on his face as Lancelot pulled back. He reached up and rested his hand on Lancelot’s neck.

“Anything for you, my love.” Lancelot leaned into Merlin’s hand, and pressed a kiss to the inside of Merlin’s wrist. 

“Your love?” he whispered.

“My love.” Lancelot’s lips were on his before he could say anything more, but there was nothing else that needed to be said. When Lancelot settled back down against Merlin’s side, the warlock began to sing again, breathless as he was, and Lancelot tapped the tattooed sword as he sang along, each lyric perfectly articulated. His mouth comfortably formed the words of a language no living being could possibly have been alive to remember. A dead language,  _ long _ dead. But Merlin remembered. 

Merlin remembered, and, more importantly,  _ Lancelot remembered _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized as I finished this chapter that the mentions of Merlin's magic in this entire story are... minimal at best. But oh well. It's a... love story. And I may have gotten caught up in the love story and forgotten about the whole magic thing.


End file.
